An Unexpected Repercussion
by elle6778
Summary: COMPLETE. The story picks up after the last episode of season 1, so expect spoilers for anything that happened in season 1. Basically this is my version of the next episode, while we wait for the real thing. MiSa
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Prison Break is created and written by Paul Scheuring. This fan-fiction had been written purely for entertainment purposes. No infringement was intended and no profit had been made out of this.

Title: Unexpected Repercussions

Author: elle6778  
Rating: PG-13/T  
Genre: Action  
Summary: The story picks up after the last episode of season 1, so expect spoilers for anything that happened in season 1. This is my take on the next episode, while we wait for the real thing. No doubt I will cringe with mortification when the actual Season 2 masterpiece appears in Aug/Sep.

Spoiler: The entire Season 1

Status: WIP

A/N: This is my first Prison Break fanfiction, so I'm kind of testing the waters here (grins). I hope that you'll like it!

* * *

**Unexpected Repercussions**

(by elle6778)

The cold wind whipped past his ears as he ran as fast as he could, fueled by adrenaline, flanked by four other escapees.

His muscles screamed at the abuse and his heart pounded hard with every step he took. It was like an erratic drumbeat in his ears, blocking out all other sounds, including the whipping blades of the helicopter rotors above them. The wheels in his minds were turning rapidly as he desperately tried to recall what he was supposed to do next.

He had planned for this. A contingency plan just in case he could not get anywhere with Abruzzi. But the part with Abruzzi had played out as he had hoped. Well, apart from his two missing toes. Abruzzi had managed to secure a plane for them, and that was all he had cared about at that time.

The plane leaving without them was something Michael had not expected. It had thrown a proverbial spanner into the works.

His hazel eyes picked up a tree line not far in front of them, and then like a jigsaw puzzle, it suddenly clicked into place. His eyes brightened. He remembered what he had planned.

Turning quickly to Sucre and C-Note, who were running alongside on his left, Michael yelled loudly to make sure that he was heard over the sound of the helicopters, "Sucre! Head for the trees."

When Sucre whipped his head around, Michael could see the fear in his eyes. "Man, you'd better have some plan in mind," the Hispanic man yelled. Beside him, C-Note, who was breathing heavily as his legs pounded the ground, just gave Scofield a worried look.

Satisfied that he got the message across, Michael called out to Lincoln and Abruzzi, who were on his other side. "We need to make for the trees as fast as we can," he shouted urgently.

"Where are we going?" Lincoln asked, his chest heaving with every breath he took.

"Out of here," Michael replied.

Abruzzi growled. "This can't be happening. This can't be happening!" he yelled in anger. There was a wild gleam in his eyes.

Michael grimaced. This was not the right time to wonder what had gone wrong with their transport or to go into hysterics. "You need to stay calm, Abruzzi. We'll talk about it when we get out of this spotlight," he snapped.

"What's your plan?" C-Note asked.

"You'll know soon."

First, they have to get into the woods. It was all part of a sequence. When they managed to complete step one, he could tell them what came next.

Still running, Michael lifted his right arm to his eyes, studying the tattoo-ed information on his skin. He had to take advantage of the illumination from the helicopter spotlights while he could. The woods were not far now. Once they got in there, it would be impossible to read the plans on his skin.

They reached the edge of the tree line just as he finished digesting the information. A minute later, they were hidden under the densely packed trees, all breathing heavily after the exertion.

"What now, Scofield?" C-Note asked, bending over with his hands on his thighs, his breath coming out in puffs of white in the cold air.

"So, what's the plan, man?" Sucre added, leaning up against a tree.

Lincoln was crouched on the ground, the heel of his hands pressed against his forehead.

Abruzzi was pacing, his jerky movements displaying his agitation.

Michael watched them calmly, noting the expression on their faces. Fear was predominant, but he could also see the hope in their eyes. In a way, it was frightening how much these convicts had come to rely on him. Although not exactly free yet, they were effectively out of Fox River State Penitentiary. And Michael wondered if they realized that they still sought directions from him.

Looking back towards the direction of the runway which they had just come from, Michael explained, "Couple of years ago, the airport authority switched their old drainage system for a new one. So now, there's a disused drain which runs from there to the main discharge." He turned around, pointing further into the woods. "About twenty meters ahead, there is a manhole leading to that drain. We need to find it."

Abruzzi bristled. "How are we going to find something like that in the dark? It's probably buried under a pile of dried twigs and leaves," he gritted out impatiently, obviously displeased. Michael suspected that his displeasure was more to do with the fact that the plane left without them, landing them in this situation.

With a small frown on his face, Lincoln said, "Michael, I hope you have a better way of doing this. We don't have time to dig through the leaves. Do you know where it is?"

"Not exactly, but I left some clues," Michael said. "Look for trees with white paint marks on the trunk. There are three of them somewhere up there," he continued, nudging in one direction.

"You'd better be right, Fish," Abruzzi said tersely.

C-Note snorted derisively. "That's rich, coming from the one who messed up our way out."

In a flash, Abruzzi grabbed C-note by the front of his shirt. "If I were you, I'd watch that mouth," he spat into C-Note's face.

Brushing Abruzzi's hands off roughly, C-Note threw back, unperturbed, "Or what? You're gonna have your face in the dirt in two second if you even think of crossing me."

"Cut it out! We don't have time for this," Michael snapped with a frown. Things were difficult enough without them at each others throats. They needed to work together for now.

"Let's go. We're wasting time," Lincoln said sternly.

There were a few muttered grumbles before they fanned out, looking for the trees with white paint marks.

Michael looked back in the direction of the runway. He knew that it would not be long before the ground team came in after them. They had to move fast. If everything went according to his secondary plan, they should find themselves in somewhere safe in about two hours.

He raised his hands to rub his forehead, but paused when he saw the blood-stained handcuffs dangling off his right wrist. The image of T-Bag's lifeless hand appeared in his mind, and bile rose in his throat. Swallowing hard, he quickly dropped his hands. He was not the one who had chopped off T-Bag's hand, but he felt the remorse all the same.

The price of the escape was higher than he had originally thought. There had been so many unexpected repercussions following what he had started; the riot which had resulted in so many casualties; the death of the inmates and the innocent guard; Westmoreland's final seconds.

Sara's face suddenly flashed in front of his eyes. Michael shut his eyes briefly. He did not know if he could ever forgive himself for what he had done. His mind told him that the manipulation was necessary in order for him to save his brother's life. But what about the betrayal he had detected in her eyes when he had told her the truth? What about her feelings?

How about HIS feelings?

Michael's head sagged and he exhaled a heavy breath. It was too late. There was nothing he could do about it now. At the moment, the most important thing was for them to get away. To lay low and hide until he could figure out the next step forward.

Straightening his spine, he forced his attention back to more pressing matters.

"I found it!" an excited shout came from his left.

* * *

**t.b.c.**

A/N: Hope you all liked it. It'll be greatly appreciated if you could let me know what you think, seeing that this is the first PB fic I'm writing.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Prison Break is created and written by Paul Scheuring. This fan-fiction had been written purely for entertainment purposes. No infringement was intended and no profit had been made out of this.

A/N: Thank you for your support in the last chapter! I hope that you'll enjoy this chapter.

* * *

**Unexpected Repercussions – Chapter 2**

(by elle6778)

Michael and the rest rushed over to Sucre, who was standing with one hand resting against a large tree. "Is this it?" he asked anxiously, his hopeful eyes darting to Michael.

Michael smiled when he saw the white marks he had painted onto the tree a few months ago. "This is it," he proclaimed. The rest of the escapees released a collective breath of relief at his words. They would have a chance after all.

Glancing around, he spotted two more trees with markings not far away. Purposefully, Michael walked into the middle of the triangle formed by the trees. "The manhole should be somewhere here," he said, kicking away the bed of twigs and leaves.

"Come on, let's find it," C-Note said, heading towards Michael.

Between the five of them, it was not long before the circular metal lid of the manhole was exposed. Swiftly, they lifted the manhole cover aside.

Sucre went down on his knees and peered in. "It's dark in there. How are we going to find our way?"

Ever prepared, Michael replied, "This manhole will lead us into the inspection chamber. There's a rope along one side. It'll lead us to where we want to go."

"And where's that?" C-Note asked warily.

"You'll see," Michael said enigmatically.

"How do we know it's safe?" Abruzzi snapped with a frown. "They might be waiting for us at the other end," he said, gesturing in the direction of the airstrip.

Calmly, Michael said, "No. It's safe. We'll just have to do our best to cover the manhole as much as possible. They shouldn't be able to track us." Tilting his head towards the hole, he continued, "Let's go. We don't have time. They'll be here soon."

Sucre was the first one in, climbing down the ladder at the side of the pit. C-Note was next, followed by Abruzzi.

When Lincoln gestured for Michael to go, he shook his head in refusal. "No, you go first. I'll need to deal with the lid," he said, kicking a pile of leaves towards the manhole cover.

A worried frown marring his expression, Lincoln protested, "But, how-"

Michael cut in firmly. "I've done this once before. Now go. I'll catch up," he said in a reassuring tone. He could see the reluctance in his brother's eyes but thankfully, Lincoln did not say anything more before he disappeared down the hole.

Michael exhaled loudly before he lowered his foot onto the first rung of the ladder and began to step down, holding on to the rim of the manhole. When his shoulders were level with the ground, he began to pull the manhole cover towards him. The chords in his neck stood out as he strained with the effort of dragging the heavy lid without dislodging the pile of leaves over it. Blinking away the sweat which was dripping into his eyes, he gritted his teeth and continued to tug the lid closer.

When he got the lid over the opening, leaving only a small gap occupied by his shoulders, Michael reached out for a branch and began to level the leaves around the area. The dried foliage was now evenly spread around the area.

Satisfied with what he had achieved, he ducked down into the hole and carefully lifted the manhole cover into place. He dropped the last feet to solid ground and blinked. It was pitch black down in the redundant inspection chamber but it was no different from what he had seen before.

"Mike?" Lincoln's voice sounded close to him, somewhere to his left.

"Scofield, you okay?" Sucre's voice came at the same time, echoing softly down the long, narrow space.

Michael rubbed his hands together, brushing off the dirt. The dangling handcuffs knocked against his arm, reminding him again of the painful cost of his plan. Resolutely, he pushed the unpleasant thoughts to the back of his mind and focussed on the next step. "Yeah. Did you find the rope?"

C-Note's voice came from somewhere on his right. "We found the rope alright. But it continues on in two directions. How do we know that we're not going straight back to the runway?"

Michael started to move, and immediately walked into another body.

"Hey, watch it!"

"That might be a little bit of a problem in this place, Abruzzi," Michael said dryly as he began to feel his way around the cold concrete wall to find the rope.

Before he could find anything, he found himself being yanked violently to the side, a pair of strong hands clamped over his arms.

Stiffening in shock, he was about to lash out when a voice came out in a harsh whisper. "So, when are you planning to hand me Fibonacci? Don't forget about our deal, Fish. I want Fibonacci's location."

It was just Abruzzi, Michael noted in annoyance. Shaking his hands off roughly, Michael replied in a cold voice, "The deal is a plane for Fibonacci's location."

"It can still be arranged," Abruzzi said tightly.

Abruzzi's offer was valuable, but Michael needed some time to think. The mob-boss's actions of late were erratic, and Michael simply did not know if he could be trusted. The best thing to do was to keep his options open. "Get us the plane. Then we talk. Right now, I don't owe you anything," Michael said levelly, moving away to continue his search for the rope. When his hands came into contact with it, he asked, "Everyone got the rope?"

A chorus of agreement sounded.

"Move forward with the rope on your left. That's the right direction."

He had just taken a few steps when someone came up to him from behind. "Hey, Fish. You're sure about this? We won't end up back in Fox River, right?" Sucre asked. Michael could hear a hint of anxiety in his voice.

Hoping that he was right, Michael said reassuringly, "Yeah, I'm sure. Now let's go before they catch up with us."

"And if they do, you're going to find yourself in whole lot of trouble, genius," Abruzzi warned darkly. "And it's not just Bellick I'm talking about here."

"Back off, Abruzzi," Lincoln snapped. "You won't even be out here at all without him."

Exasperated, Michael ran a hand over his eyes, then up to his shaved head. "Listen, we don't have time for this. We can deal with any _issues_ any of you have later. Not now," he rebuked in a deceptively calm voice. "Right now, we have to get as far away as possible from Fox River."

A short silence followed his words, and then C-Note said, "What are we waiting for? Let's go."

As they shuffled forward, Michael's mind went back to his short exchange with Abruzzi.

Fibonacci's location was going to be a problem. Not because he did not know where the guy was located, but more because he could guess what Abruzzi intended to do with the guy. Abruzzi would not stop until he got the information he wanted, but Michael was not sure that he was able knowingly send yet another man to his death. Too many had died already.

The body count was climbing.

So what was he supposed to do?

* * *

They had been walking as fast as they could, but shortly after setting off, the drain had narrowed down considerably in width and height, forcing them to crouch down. The awkward stance made it difficult for them to move as fast as they wanted to. 

The surrounding darkness and the stale air were oppressive, making even harder for them, testing their limits. But Michael knew that they had to go on. Somewhere in front, they would finally come out into the open.

"How long more?" Abruzzi asked irritably, his impatience getting the better of him.

"We need to go past another inspection chamber before we reach our destination. Not long more now," Michael explained. "Is everyone alright?"

"We've been walking like old hags with bad backs for the last two hours. What do you think, Scofield?" C-Note asked sarcastically.

"You're sure we're on the right track?" Abruzzi asked for what seemed like the hundredth time.

Michael suddenly stopped.

Unable to see in the dark, Lincoln ran smack into his brother's back.

Michael fisted his hand and thumped the wall. He could not believe that he had forgotten about it. It was so glaringly obvious. Squeezing his eyes shut, he let out a heart-felt groan.

"What's wrong?"

Ignoring his brother's question, Michael turned over his shoulders and called out. "Sucre?"

"Yeah?" Sucre asked, somewhere along the line behind the rest.

"You need to cut the rope. If they find this drain, we don't want them to leave them a trail."

"What! The rope goes back miles, Scofield!" C-Note exclaimed incredulously. "For all we know, they've already started at the other end."

"Should have cut it earlier, genius," Abruzzi growled. "Great going."

Michael pressed his lips together. It was his mistake, he knew that. But it was too late to go back know to fix it. "Just cut it now, alright? You got your knife, Abruzzi?"

"Here," Abruzzi said, handing his knife to Sucre.

A scraping sound came to their ears, and a short moment later, Sucre said, "That's done."

"Let's go. Sucre, roll up the rope and bring it along with us as we move, okay?"

"Sure thing, Fish."

An hour later, they found themselves at the end of the rope and in an inspection chamber. Straightening for the first time in almost two hours, Michael exhaled a breath of relief. He pressed a button on his watch, and the illuminated digits displayed 04:12. Good, it was still dark, he thought.

"This is it, guys," he said. Carefully, he palmed the wall in the dark until he found the ladder he was expecting.

"It's about time," Abruzzi grumbled under his breath.

"What's up there, Mike?" Lincoln asked curiously, moving closer to him.

"A safe house," Michael replied absently as he crouched down, feeling along the cold metal of the ladder. Just as his fingers touched the ridges of a key, someone bumped into him, making him stumble to the ground. The key flew out of his hands.

"No," he breathed out in dismay.

"What are you doing down there, man?" Sucre exclaimed in surprise.

"Everyone, don't move," Michael instructed urgently as he shuffled onto his knees.

"You wanna tell us what you're doing, Fish?" C-Note asked curiously.

"Looking for the key. Dropped it when Sucre knocked into me," Michael explained impatiently, patting the grimy floor in distaste. "Check around you, but don't move your feet. We don't want to kick it further away."

The sound of fabric scraping against concrete filled the air as they searched for the key.

It took a while, but Lincoln was the one who finally found the key. Thanking his brother gratefully, Michael took the key and began to climb up the ladder.

This was the hardest part. The manhole opened up to a back alley. Since it was still dark outside, they should be able to make it the short distance from the alley to the abandoned building. But keeping in mind all they had gone through, Michael knew that things might not necessarily turn out exactly as planned.

He had planned for an escape team of five, and he had ended up with nine. The original five, including himself, was Lincoln, his cellmate, Abruzzi and Westmoreland. And now, Westmoreland did not make it, leaving him with C-Note instead.

Michael shook the thoughts away, knowing that he needed all his attention for this next task. He pressed his hands against the manhole cover and pushed, feeling it move a little. Good, he thought.

Holding on to the ladder with one hand, he faced down towards the rest and said, "We need to make this quick. The second we're out, we need to get to the house without being seen. It's just at the end of the alley."

"How are we supposed to do that? Someone's gonna to see us," C-Note remarked in an agitated tone.

"It's 4 am in the morning. There shouldn't be anyone around. We might be able to do it," Lincoln said, sounding hopeful. "Come on, let's go."

Michael shoved hard against the metal lid and with a loud scrape, it shifted a little to the side, letting a ray of light from a streetlamp in. He held his breath, listening out for sound which might indicate that they had been heard.

Nothing.

Blinking against the sudden brightness, he released his breath and pushed the metal lid to the side.

Swiftly, he climbed out of the hole and crouched at the rim, scanning his surroundings. Then he stood up and took a few steps along the narrow alley sandwiched between two double-storey buildings. Both buildings had wooden boards over their windows. At one end, he could see the main street, and at the other end, a fenced up area. The place was eerily silent, devoid of any form of life.

Michael looked back over his shoulders to see Lincoln and C-Note standing behind him.

"Where's this place?" Lincoln asked quietly, taking in his surroundings. Sucre and Abruzzi came up beside him, both glancing around warily.

Michael tilted his head in the direction of the main street. "The key will let us in through the back door of that building in the corner. Let's move."

Forming a line, they jogged in the shadows to the end of the building. Arriving at the door, Michael inserted the key and twisted, exhaling in relief when the door clicked open.

"Come on," he said, holding the door open for the rest to go through.

When they were all in, Michael scanned the area again to make sure they were clear and then shut the door behind them, cutting off the light from the streetlamps. Now, the only source of illumination in the dusty room was the thin rays which filtered in between the wooden boards on the windows. Michael could make out the outline of some dusty cardboard boxes by a row of rusty built-in stoves and ovens. The sink was to the side of the room.

"Can we have some light in here?" Sucre grumbled.

In the dim light, Michael could see the incredulous expression on C-Note's face as he replied, "What! We ain't having any light in here. Not unless we want to give them a homing beacon to come to."

"Well, well, well. Look who's in charge now?" Abruzzi mocked, crossing his arms, leaning his shoulders against a wall.

"We'll go down to the basement," Michael quickly interjected, not wanting to give it a chance to blow up into a fight.

"What's this place, anyway?" Lincoln asked, his eyes sweeping the room which had been used as a kitchen at some point in the past.

Michael walked to the sink and turned the tap. He let a smile slip onto his lips when a few drops of discoloured water dripped from the tap. "This used to be a restaurant. This block and the next one are down for demolition to make way for a new office building. The residents moved out about a year ago. One of the Architects I worked with is working on the job, but it was stalled because of some cost issues. The negotiations are probably still underway on as we speak, but the last I heard, the earliest they could resolve this is in half a year's time. That should be long enough for our trail to go cold," Michael explained as he made his way to the front.

"Where are you going?" Sucre asked curiously, catching up with him.

"Basement," Michael replied as he opened a door which led to a stairwell. He hoped that no one had discovered what he had left there the last time he came.

"What for?" C-Note asked, following Michael down the stairs.

Not bothering to answer, Michael pushed open the solid fire-door at the base of the stairs and stepped into the basement and was soon enveloped in darkness. But he knew that the contractors would have left at least one working light, even if the project had stalled a while ago. He took a few steps to the left, feeling in the dark until his hands touched the smooth surface of a standing lamp. A second later, he found the switch.

The tube of light bathed the basement in a soft white glow.

The place had been used as a storage area before the owners moved out. Old cardboard boxes lined up against a stained wall, precariously stacked one on top of another. Old, broken restaurant furniture was scattered here and there.

"We're going to be hiding in here?" Lincoln asked, looking around.

Michael nodded silently, his eyes scanning the room. Then he went right towards the fireplace.

Lincoln frowned. "Mike?"

"What are you doing?" Sucre asked as Michael started to prod at a corner at high level in the fireplace.

Michael looked over his shoulders. "Getting us a change of clothes." Soot showered down on him after a particularly vigorous poke, making him cough. A bundle wrapped in a large bin bag dropped next to his feet with a soft thud.

C-Note's face twisted in distaste. "Whoa! From there?"

"Hey, you can always keep those on, you know," Abruzzi said, tilting his head at C-Note's grey sweater, now streaked with dirt and grime from their escape.

C-Note tossed Abruzzi a 'get-lost' look.

Abruzzi returned with a cocky smirk.

Holding the sooty bag under one arm, Michael stared at them thoughtfully. C-Note and Abruzzi's antagonism towards each other was not unexpected, considering their circumstances prior to the escape. Even without that, their personalities clashed. He just hoped that they could keep it together a little while longer, at least until they get out of the spotlight.

He dropped the bag to the floor and wiped his hand clean on the sides of his pants. Going down on one knee, he ripped open the protective plastic cover and extracted some clothes.

Sucre knelt beside him. "You actually kept clothes for us here? I thought we were supposed to fly to Mexico."

The corner of his lips lifting in a smile, Michael said, "Contingency plan. Need to be prepared, just in case I can't get Abruzzi on board." After passing Sucre and Lincoln a set of clean clothing each, Michael turned around and tossed a bundle to C-Note. "It's probably the wrong size, but that's all we have."

Inspecting the blue jeans and thick red jumper in his hands, C-Note shrugged and said, "Anything's better than the scrap they make us wear in Fox River."

After handing out Abruzzi his, Michael pulled out a few other objects from the bag.

Sucre's eyes widened. "Is… is that what I think it is?" he asked, his hand snaked out to pick up a cell phone.

Smirking, Michael said, "This one's not soap."

Sucre's face brightened. "I can call Maricruz," he said breathlessly.

Abruzzi rushed forwards, grabbing the cell phone from Sucre. "No! They'll be watching all our contacts and families," he warned.

"But-" Sucre protested, the expression on his face dimming.

Michael interjected quietly, "He's right, Sucre. This is for emergencies only." He hated to see the disappointed look on his cellmate's face, but it was necessary.

Lincoln nodded towards the bag. "Is that a radio?"

"Yeah, we need to keep tabs on the progress," Michael said as he inserted the batteries into the radio.

The radio crackled to life. Michael adjusted the dial until it picked up a good signal. All of them held their breath as the sound of a female news reporter speaking filtered into the room.

"… _we'll update you later with the status of the escaped convicts from Fox River State Penitentiary. _

_Now, in a related news, Dr. Sara Tancredi, who's serving as the in-house doctor at the prison, was found unconscious at her home earlier this evening-"_

Michael inhaled harshly, his eyes widening as he digested the words. _Sara? No…_The radio in his hands blurred as he stared at it unseeingly.

"… _Dr Tancredi, the daughter of Governor Tancredi who's in the running for vice-presidency, was rushed out by the emergency services to a local hospital. Drug overdose was suspected. However, we have no confirmation of her status as of yet from the hospital. Tune in in an hour to hear the latest update on this situation. _

_For those of you who haven't bought the newest model of…"_

Michael had stopped listening. He sat back with his elbows on his knees, the heels of his hands pressed against his forehead. All he could make out was the voice on the radio reverberating in his mind.

_Unconscious…_

_Drug overdose suspected…_

_Drug overdose…_

_Sara_…

His earlier thoughts on the repercussions of the plan he had set in motion came back to haunt him. He bit his lips, barely registering the coppery taste of his blood in his mouth.

_What has he done to Sara?_

* * *

**t.b.c.**

A/N: Please review and let me know what you think. I'd really appreciate it!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Prison Break is created and written by Paul Scheuring. This fan-fiction had been written purely for entertainment purposes. No infringement was intended and no profit had been made out of this.

A/N: Thank you for reading and reviewing the last chapter! Here's the continuation, for your reading pleasure!

* * *

**Unexpected Repercussions – Chapter 3**

(by elle6778)

"Mike?"

"Scofield. SCOFIELD!"

"Hey, Fish! What's wrong?"

Elbows propped on his knees and his clenched fists pressed hard against his forehead, he kept his eyes shut as images of Sara ran through his mind. He heard them calling him, but he just could not respond. All he could think of was Sara.

He should not have pressured her to help. He should have thought harder to find another way to get the door open. The look on her face when he had told her the truth said it all. Betrayed. She had looked at him with that hurt, betrayed way which made him feel so guilty. And she was in that hospital now because of him.

He needed to see her.

Someone shook his shoulders gently.

"Mike, come on. Snap out of it," Lincoln said firmly, but with a note of undisguised anxiety.

In the background, Michael could hear Sucre saying, "I think it's because of the lady doctor."

"You can't be serious," Abruzzi exclaimed incredulously. "We got more important things to think about right now. Like how to stay out of sight. And how to get out of here."

Their voices were distracting him. He could not think with all of them arguing around him. Soon. Soon he would think of someway to get to Sara. Abruzzi was right, he had to deal with their current situation before anything else.

Michael lifted his head from his hands up just in time to see C-Note sneering at Abruzzi. "And maybe find out what happened to that plane of yours. I thought you and Scofield got a deal going. What did you want in return for that plane, huh?"

"If I were you, I'd mind my own business," Abruzzi retorted coldly.

"That plane became _our_ business when we agreed to escape together," C-Note pointed out tersely.

Abruzzi crossed his arms over his chest. "Oh? Do I have to remind you that _you_ were not even part of the escape plan in the first place?"

Michael took a deep breath to recompose himself. Giving his worried brother a reassuring nod, he unfolded his aching limbs and stood up.

Abruzzi turned to him, raising a mocking brow. "He lives after all."

Michael smirked. "So it seems."

Lincoln gave him a worried look. "The doctor-"

Michael shook his head quickly. "Not now."

Leaning against a cardboard box, C-Note asked, "So, what's the plan now? We can't stay here forever. We'll starve, for a start."

Picking up the almost empty bag, Michael tossed it to C-Note. "That should keep us going for a while."

C-Note held up the few packets of biscuits he had removed from the bag. "You've gotta be kidding me."

Sucre walked over and snatched the packets. "It's still food, right?" He tore one open and stuffed a handful of biscuits into his mouth.

"So, wanna tell us what happened to that plane, Abruzzi?" Sucre asked, swallowing.

Abruzzi began to pace. "You think I know!"

C-Note snorted. "It's YOUR plane. Who else would know?"

Abruzzi slammed his hand against the wall. "When I get my hands on those useless pieces of trash, I'll show them!" he growled.

"This is not helping," Michael said levelly, interrupting Abruzzi's rant. "Plane or no plane?"

C-Note's tone was derisive. "For all we know, his mob has already gone into hiding. Or maybe they've already sold us out," he remarked, giving Abruzzi a suspicious look.

Abruzzi flew at C-Note, grabbing him by the neck. "You've got a problem with me, huh, soldier boy?"

"Back off, Abruzzi," Lincoln warned, but Abruzzi had already slammed C-Note into the wall.

C-Note pushed Abruzzi back roughly. "Watch what you're saying, old man," the ex-military man snapped threateningly.

"Cut it out!" Michael ordered. "The last thing we need is to fight between ourselves."

Shrugging Abruzzi's touch off him, C-Note turned to Michael and said, "Look, Scofield. All I want is to get back to my family." He pointed his thumb over his shoulders in Abruzzi's direction. "If I got to work with him, then I will. I'm not the one you should be worried about."

Sucre joined in. "So, when will we get out of this place?"

"As soon as we find some transport," Michael replied. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Abruzzi hit the wall with his fist again. "Abruzzi. We need a plane, or even a chopper. Anything you can find."

Leaving the wall, Abruzzi stalked towards them. "I need a phone."

Lincoln frowned. "Can the calls be traced?"

Michael shook his head. "Not from this end. But maybe they've already tapped the people we know."

Abruzzi held out his hands for the phone, looking bored. "My guys know better than that. Line's safe."

When Michael passed him the phone, Abruzzi leaned closer. "Fibonacci," he hissed meaningfully.

Michael glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes, but did not bother to reply. He still needed to work up a plan for the Fibonacci situation. Like how to stop Abruzzi from killing the guy. Sara's condition was the last straw. He refused to sacrifice any more innocent people in this plan that he had set in motion.

They watched silently as Abruzzi placed the call, facing the wall. His voice was low as he spoke, making it hard for Michael and the rest to make out what he was saying. Michael frowned. What was the guy hiding from them?

Sucre came up and nudged Michael in the ribs. "You think Abruzzi's okay?"

"Not sure," he muttered under his breath. "But we need him here with us for now."

"Man, he hacked off T-Bag's hand!" Sucre exclaimed in a horrified whisper.

Michael resisted the urge to look down at the handcuffs still dangling from his wrist. He had to do something about it. And soon. There was no way he could blend in anywhere with that glaring beacon. And especially not if he wanted to see Sara.

"Sucre has a point, Mike. The man's a loose canon," Lincoln added worriedly.

"We'll deal with it," was all Michael said.

C-Note stepped up next to him. "You better know what you're doing, Scofield. I meant what I said about his mob selling us out."

"They won't try anything. I still have something they want. And I know-" Michael said, but was interrupted by Abruzzi's harsh exclamation of frustration.

"I can't believe it!" Abruzzi yelled furiously as he walked back to them.

"What?" Lincoln asked warily.

Tilting his head back, Abruzzi exhaled loudly. "They left because of traffic control wanted them off the airstrip, that's it. Now, they can't do anything at all. Everything is blocked off. All the airstrips in the area are shut down. We're not going anywhere."

Expecting just as much, Michael replied calmly, "We'll just have to wait it out then." He looked down at his watch. "Sun's coming up in a couple of hours. We need to catch some sleep while we can."

"Someone needs to keep a lookout," Lincoln said.

Nodding to his brother, Michael said, "You rest. I'll stay up."

"But-"

Michael interjected. "You can do it next, Linc."

Obviously noticing how tired Lincoln looked, Sucre offered, "I'll stay up with him. What are cellmates for, huh?"

Reluctantly, Lincoln went towards the cardboard boxes and flattened some of them to create a makeshift bed. Giving each other wary looks, Abruzzi and C-Note followed suit.

Michael watched as the three of them laid down. Fifteen minutes later, soft snoring sounds filtered through the basement. Beside him, Sucre fidgeted restlessly and then stood up to stretch his legs, leaving Michael alone in the room.

Two hour later, Sucre returned and sat back down wordlessly beside him, looking pensive. Michael guessed that he was thinking about Maricruz.

Sighing, Michael let his eyes wander over towards the sleeping men, wondering what they were going to do once they got away from the authorities. Linc would want to see LJ soon, and Michael had to think of a way to get him there. Maybe he should call Veronica, but he was sure that her cell phone would be tapped by now. He needed to find a way to get over that, to get in contact with her without alerting anyone.

As for Abruzzi, it was more than clear what the mob-boss wanted. Fibonacci. Michael was sure that he could not pull the same stunt as he had done in the past to get out of it. Abruzzi was not stupid, he would suspect something. How else could he make sure Fibonacci remained safe and at the same time, appease Abruzzi? What would Abruzzi do after Fibonacci? Go back to his old ways? Back to the mob? Blackmailing? Killing? Torturing innocent people?

Michael grimaced, not liking his contribution to the possible crimes Abruzzi might commit. It was not as if the consequences had not occurred to him before, but had been different back when he had cooked up his escape plan. Desperation was a powerful thing. It had been imperative that he got Lincoln out, whatever the cost. But the reality, the repercussions of his plan, was much worse than he had originally envisaged.

C-Note was another thing. There was something about him that Michael could not quite put his finger on. The guy just did not seem like the usual criminal. Michael wondered how C-Note got himself into Fox Rivers in the first place.

His mind inevitably went to Sara. His eyes fluttered shut. With a heavy sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned back against the cold brick wall. He needed to see her. A plan was already taking shape in his mind, but it was dangerous, considering the manhunt out there. But it was the only plan he could come up with which fitted around the rest of his plans at such a short notice.

He glanced over when Sucre got to his feet again, this time to pace the length of the room. The guy was obviously restless with the wait.

"Man, I'd kill for a shower right now," the Hispanic man muttered.

Michael said dryly. "You don't have to kill. There's running water in this place." He sat up and nodded towards the end of the room. "Don't remember if there's a shower, but that's the staff washroom."

Sucre's eyes widened. "Man, why didn't you say so earlier?" he exclaimed, instantly jumping to his feet. Grabbing the clothes from the bag, he dashed towards the washroom.

Michael sighed and leaned back against the wall. His eyes felt gritty and his whole body ached. He desperately needed sleep, but his mind would not let him rest. There was too many things to think about, too many things to do.

First things first. The handcuffs.

Again, T-Bag's lifeless hand flashed across his eyes. Resolutely, he pushed the image to the back of his mind and forced himself to focus.

Holding his wrist up in front of his eyes, he studied the design of the handcuffs, noting each connection, each strip of stainless steel interlocking together and the small keyhole. It worked on a pawl and ratchet principle, Michael noted with a frown of concentration. He tilted the handcuffs closer.

Brute force did not work. But something else might. Letting his eyes wander around the room, he wondered if there was anything he could use to remove them. Spotting the bag beside Lincoln, who was asleep on a pile of flattened cardboard boxes, an idea occurred to him.

Standing up, Michael headed for the bag. As he stooped down to get it, Lincoln sat up abruptly beside him, his eyes darting left and right cagily.

"It's just me, Linc," Michael said reassuringly as he rummaged through the bag.

Exhaling loudly, Lincoln slumped in relief against the wall and asked wearily, "What are you doing?"

Michael pulled out a small toolkit which he had packed in together with the rest of the stuff he had thought they might need. Opening the folded case, he kept his eyes pinned on the array of tools as he replied, "I'm going to work on the cuffs."

Lincoln sat up straighter, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands. "How?"

Michael removed a thin metal file from the kit. "Hold the cuffs for me," he said to his brother. "Don't let it move."

When Lincoln had the handcuffs held securely, Michael studied the handcuffs again, noting how the pawl and the ratchet connected together, locking around his wrist. Focusing on the junction between the two, he slid the thin piece of metal past the narrow gap. Then, holding his breath he twisted the metal file.

A soft click sounded.

Relief washed over him. It worked. Michael carefully pried open the ratchet, exposing the toothed strip of metal. He glanced up to find Lincoln looking at him in astonishment.

"Where did you learn to do that?" his brother asked, his expression now turning incredulous.

Michael shrugged. "It's just the way it was put together. Anything that was assembled could be taken apart."

Sucre chose that moment to walk back into the room, now freshly cleansed and dressed in a pair of beige jumper under a white shirt and long black jeans which was hanging loosely around his hips. Tugging the jeans up, Sucre remarked sourly, "This is gonna fall off."

"Find something to use as a belt," Lincoln suggested.

"Where-" Sucre started to ask, but halted when he saw the Michael rubbing his bare wrists, the handcuffs now lying on the floor. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "How… when?" Then he burst out in an excited smile. "Fish, you got it off!"

Michael grinned at his animated cellmate. "Yeah."

Sucre bend down, picking up the handcuffs, his amazement evident on his face. "Can you show me how you got it off?" he asked, his curious eyes shining.

"You're planning on being in cuffs again?" Lincoln teased.

"No, man, 'course not!" Sucre denied, horrified.

Michael smirked. "Then you don't need to know, right?"

"Aww, man. Come on…" Sucre urged.

But Michael just shook his head at Sucre, much to the other man's disappointment. He stood up into a stretch and then slid his freed hands into his pockets. Now that the handcuff issue was solved, he was free to carry out what he had planned, especially considering their lack of options at the moment when it came to transportation.

"I think it's time to wake C-Note up," Michael said, heading towards C-Note. Kneeling down, he shook C-Note lightly. When C-Note's bleary eyes cracked open, he said, "Your turn now to do watch with Linc."

At C-Note's nod, Michael turned to Sucre. "We need to get some rest."

Michael made his way towards Lincoln's pile of flattened boxes and settled his weary body down. The minute his head touched the makeshift mat, he dozed off.

He woke up to the sounds of shuffling around him. Yawning, he sat up and stretched, blinking his eyes to clear the sleep away from them.

"Sleeping beauty's awake at last," a voice commented.

Michael turned his head towards Abruzzi, who was now dressed in black slacks and a grey sweater over a shirt. The rest of them also appeared to have made use of the staff washroom, he noted. He was the only one still clothed in the prison garb.

He stood up, grimacing as his tightly knotted muscles screamed in protest. Picking up the bag which contained his share of clean clothes, Michael headed to the staff washroom.

Once he stepped into the room, Michael paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then the shapes around him came into focus. There was a couple of toilet cubicles to his left and a couple of sinks opposite the cubicles, fixed against a tiled wall with cracked mirrors hanging on it. There was no shower, but Michael could see what the rest had been using instead. A hose.

Setting the bag down onto the sink, Michael was about to reach for his clothes when the phone caught his sight. He stood there, his hands propped against the sink as he stared at the phone, debating the sanity of what he was about to do.

Then, steeling himself, he picked up the phone and dialled. Mindful to keep the call short, he spoke quickly. He kept his voice low, careful not to be heard by the rest of them out there. When he got the information he wanted, he hung up.

Now that he had made the first step, he felt oddly relieved but impatient to put the plan into action. Quickly stripping, he picked up the end of the hose and braced himself as he twisted the tap. Cold water came rushing out, splashing onto his tattooed torso followed by his sharp intake of breath.

He shivered as the frigid water left a trail of goosebumps down his chest, but stood still until his body acclimatised to the temperature. When the shivers subsided, he lifted the hose up and let the stream of water cascade over his shaved head. He shut his eyes tight and leaned back to catch the water on his face. The rivulets of water streamed down past his neck to his torso, washing away the grime from his skin.

His muscles rippled as he brought his right hand to wash himself, scrubbing his skin briskly. Now wide-awake, his mind started to go over the plan that had seemed so disjointed only a few hours ago. They did not have many options.

He was sure that Linc, Sucre and C-Note were just as desperate as he was to get out there to see their loved ones. The only problem was Abruzzi. Abruzzi was not going anywhere until he got Fibonacci's location.

He turned the tap off and shook the excess water off himself. Taking the clean clothes of out the bag, he pulled them on over his damp skin. Stubble was growing, he noticed as he rubbed his chin. Perhaps that would work as a disguise. He would definitely need it, especially considering the next step in his plan.

Tugging the white collar of his shirt over the neckline of his black jumper, he walked out of the washroom.

The four other escapees, sitting on the cardboard boxes, watched his approach.

Michael watched them thoughtfully as he slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks, wondering how they would take the news he was about to break to them. It was the only solution he could think of to get them moving, otherwise they would be stuck in there for who knew how long.

"Alright. Here's the plan."

The rest of them gave him an enquiring look.

"Abruzzi, you need to keep tabs on the plane situation. They can't shut the runways that long, another day max. The second the runways are open, we get on that plane and head to Mexico. In the meantime, we'll wait."

"We can't be waiting here for days without food, Scofield," C-Note pointed out.

"I know we need supplies. And I have something else to deal with. That's why I'm going out."

"What!" Lincoln exclaimed. "No, it's too risky," his brother protested with a frown.

Abruzzi just looked at him with an unreadable expression.

Sucre piped up. "What if you get caught?"

Prepared for that question, Michael replied, "If I get caught, then Linc will head the team. I'll brief him."

"You could just tell us everything. Then at least we'd be all clued up," C-Note said with a frown.

Michael shook his head. "No. The less everyone knows the better. For now."

"You're not going alone. I'm coming with you," Abruzzi declared.

"I need to do this by myself. And you need stay here to deal with the plane," Michael said firmly.

"Look, Scofield. You can't be serious about going out there alone. Without any backup," C-Note said, still frowning.

"The backup is Linc. He'll be here if I don't return," Michael replied calmly.

Abruzzi shook his head slowly. "Can't let you do that, Fish. Remember our deal?"

"Yes. I remember. But we don't have that plane yet and you're not getting anything until that plane lands in Mexico safely."

"Mike. This is suicide," Lincoln said, shaking his head disapprovingly.

Michael took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "If I'm not back in twenty-four hours, you leave without me."

"Nice try, Fish. But-" Abruzzi started.

Michael interjected smoothly. "Linc will tell you what you need to know if I'm not there."

Sucre shook his head disapprovingly. "This is a bad idea, Fish."

"One of us could go with you. Look, Scofield, I'll go," C-Note volunteered.

"Too risky."

"And you going alone is not?" C-Note challenged.

Michael frowned, wondering why C-Note was so adamant about it. Did the guy have an alternate agenda? He tried again, "I'm not just going for supplies, I'm also trying to sidetrack that manhunt out there. Two of us are easier to spot than just me."

C-Note persisted. "You'll need a hand with the supplies."

"Man, why do you want to get out there so bad?" Sucre asked, voicing Michael's unspoken question.

C-Note did not answer, confirming to Michael that there was something going on in the other man's mind.

"If he wants out so bad, then just let him," Abruzzi said disinterestedly.

Michael gave C-Note an assessing look. The other man's presence might be useful, considering the detour he planned to take to see Sara. It might also be a good chance for him to find out what C-Note was up to.

Making up his mind, Michael finally said, "Fine. We'll leave in an hour."

**t.b.c.**

* * *

A/N: Hope you enjoyed that! Please review. I'd love to know what you think! 


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Prison Break is created and written by Paul Scheuring. This fan-fiction had been written purely for entertainment purposes. No infringement was intended and no profit had been made out of this.

A/N: Thank you for your support in the last chapter! Here's the next instalment. Hope that you'll enjoy it!

* * *

**Unexpected Repercussions – Chapter 4**

(by elle6778)

A silent Lincoln followed close behind him when Michael took the bag and headed upstairs. He needed some space to sort through his thoughts without being constantly surrounded by others.

But the moment they reached the top of the stairs, Lincoln said, "Mike, this is a really bad idea. We can last without supplies if it's just twenty four hours."

Michael sighed. He knew it was a matter of time before Lincoln confronted him about his plan. "It's not just the supplies. I need to make a call from out there."

Lincoln frowned. "Make it from the cell: he suggested, gesturing to the bag.

Michael shook his head. "No. I don't want anything linked to the person I'm calling. It's bad enough that I'm even involving her."

"Who?"

"Someone I met while I was helping out in community service. Don't ask. I just need to get out there, sort out some stuff and tie up some loose ends."

Lincoln gave him a thoughtful look. "You're going to see the doctor, aren't you?" he finally said.

Michael did not answer. Instead, he rummaged through the bag, picking out things he might need later, and slipped them into his pocket.

His fingers touched a small metal object, reminding him of yet another thing he had to do. The last thing Westmoreland had asked of him was to go see his daughter. The call he had made earlier told him that a Miss Westmoreland was still at the Sacred Heart hospital in Indianapolis. All he had to do now was to make his way there.

After Sara.

Lincoln's voice penetrated his thoughts. "Mike. You can't help her now," he said sternly.

Shutting his eyes, Michael exhaled slowly. He chose not to reply to his brother, instead he said, "Listen, Linc. In twelve hours, get Abruzzi to set up a chopper for tomorrow morning. There's a park one mile down south." He pushed a map into Lincoln's hand. Pointing at a spot on the map, he said, "We're here. If I'm not back in twenty four hours, get on that chopper and drop Sucre and C-Note where they want to go, but away from St Louis. We've got to split up. Especially Abruzzi and C-Note. They're getting onto each other's nerves."

Lincoln looked around. Satisfied that they were still alone, he asked in a low voice, "What about Fibonacci?"

Michael put his finger on the map. "He's there. But I'm not going to hand him over to Abruzzi if I can help it. Too many people died already and this guy did not do anything wrong. Maybe except for being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"How are we going to sidetrack Abruzzi? The guy's too sharp to just let us leave without his info."

"You're right. Abruzzi isn't going to let you walk off, and he knows that I won't disappear without you. He wants Fibonacci and he won't stop until he gets it. Tell him that he'll get what he wants when the two of you land in Indianapolis." Michael pointed to another spot in the map, highlighted in yellow. "There's a disused farmhouse here. That's where we'll meet up if I don't get back here in time."

"You don't need twenty four hours to get to the doctor and back. We can wait for you," Lincoln insisted.

Michael shook his head resolutely. "No, it's not safe to wait. The timing is set. You must leave then."

Taking out a small penknife from the bag, he carefully cut a slit on the inside lining. Reaching in, he felt around and then pulled out a wad of notes.

He held out a handful of notes to a surprised Lincoln. "You didn't think that I was going to steal my way to freedom, did you?" Michael said wryly.

"How much do you have there?"

"Not enough. Not to last us as long as I would like. I had other plans for money," Michael explained, grimmacing. Westmoreland's image at the infirmary flashed across his mind. "But it didn't work out exactly as I planned."

"What exactly was your plan?"

"Westmoreland's supposed to come with us. He stashed some money away before he got caught. Long story."

Linc grabbed Michael's arm as he stood to go. "Mike. Listen. While you're out there, can you call Veronica? I need to know if LJ's okay."

Michael stilled. He hated to disappoint his brother but he had to. "I can't, Linc. The phone taps will locate us. They would have expected you to get in touch with her."

"But I need to know how he's doing!" Lincoln snapped in frustration. He ran a hand over his head, his anxiety clear for all to see. "I need to get in touch with him," he added in a quieter tone.

Michael shook his head slowly. "We can't afford to. Not right now."

Lincoln clasped his hands tight on Michael's shoulders, staring him straight in the eyes. "When, Mike? When?" his brother demanded to know.

"Linc. You won't get to see them at all if you get caught," Michael reasoned gently, hoping to get through to his brother. He understood what it was like, wanting to see someone badly. Was that not how he felt with Sara? However, he knew that he could risk himself but he could not risk Lincoln's safety.

All the fight seemed to seep out from Lincoln as he exhaled wearily. Letting his hands drop, he sagged and said, "They're coming after my family. They're coming after LJ, Mike."

"I know. But LJ has been fine and you know it. There's no reason why it would change now. And Veronica's looking after him. Contacting him would put him in more danger."

"I don't know how long more I can wait, Mike."

"You'll have to for now. They'll ease off in time, and then we'll make contact."

The sound of footsteps ascending the stairs halted their conversation. Abruzzi, C-Note and Sucre approached them.

Pulling a plain black bucket hat over his head, Michael straightened.

Abruzzi gave him a once over. "You think they won't recognise you in those threads?"

Sucre rolled his eyes. "You have better ideas, Abruzzi?"

"What's wrong with me being concerned? He gets his ass caught and..."

Lincoln cut in firmly, "He won't get caught."

Michael gave his brother a grateful look. He turned around to see C-Note leaning against the wall.

"It's time," he said to his partner.

* * *

They walked for about half an hour, keeping away from the main roads. Both of them were silent, frequently scanning the surrounding warily.

Typical of this type of small outskirt towns, the area was quiet, bar the chirping sounds made by the birds perched in the trees. Potted plants and well-tended bushes lined the streets, and pretty little houses dotted the landscape. The whole thing seemed surreal to Michael after his incarceration in Fox River. All he had known for the last couple of months was cellblocks, underground drainage runs and the yard.

And Sara, a small voice told him.

Soon, he thought resolutely.

A small shop came into view. C-Note gave him a questioning look.

Glancing around, Michael said, "Keep a lookout. I'm going in."

"Head down, Scofield," C-Note advised.

Michael replied with a curt nod before making his way to the shop. A bell overhead jingled as he opened the door.

The shopkeeper, an elderly man, looked up from his newspaper. "Good morning," he greeted.

"Good morning," Michael replied politely.

As the old man returned to his reading, his eyes just inches from the papers, Michael went around the store, grabbing some food products and essential grooming kit. Just before he headed back to the till, he threw in several of boxes of hair dye. It might come in useful once their hair grew out, he thought.

When he approached the counter, the old man stood up and started to sum up the prices. Shaking his head, he muttered under his breath, "Prison these days. Useless, I say."

Michael froze at the man's words. Cautiously he asked, "Why?" Surely the old man would have recognised him if the escape made the papers.

"A bunch of convicts escaped last night. Still around, it seems. Probably mixing around with our neighbours and all and we wouldn't even know it," the old man continued to grumble as brought a packet of sandwich up close to his face, peering intently at the price-tag before he entered a number into the large calculator in front of him. "Could be standing right in front of you for all you know."

Michael glanced around the empty shop, hoping that his nervousness was not showing. The old man probably could not see him clearly enough to identify him, considering the way he was looking at the price-tags. "That's bad," Michael finally mumbled.

The old man pushed a full grocery back towards him. "Here. That'll be sixteen dollars and fifty cents, young man."

Michael gave him a twenty.

When he received the change, Michael walked calmly out of the store towards C-Note.

"We're in the papers," he told the other man in a low voice.

C-Note's eyes widened. "Did they recognise you?"

Michael shook his head. "Fortunately, the old man's eyesight isn't that great. Or maybe our pictures haven't been circulated yet."

"We've got to go now," C-Note insisted, looking around nervously.

"Wait. I need to do something first," Michael said. Spotting a phone box just a few steps away, he made a beeline for it.

Settling the grocery bag next to his feet, he unbuttoned his shirtsleeve and pushed it up, exposing the tattoo on his left arm. Studying the cryptic lines, he picked out a series of numbers and dialled.

"Operator? I want to make a collect call to 815 584 9655," Michael said. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the quizzical look C-Note directed at him.

"Your name, sir?" the operator asked in a bored voice.

Turning away from C-Note, he replied, "Mike."

"Hold on."

He checked his surroundings again. A woman was walking her dog on the sidewalk, heading straight at them. Surreptitiously, Michael lowered his head and faced the phone box. Beside him, C-Note turned away from the woman and sat down by the sidewalk, cradling his head in his hands.

The operator came back on. "You're connected."

"Hello?" A female voice greeted on the other end of the line.

"It's me," Michael said simply, knowing that she would recognise his voice.

A small pause, then she said, "I know. How're things?"

"Okay. Remember what I need you to do?"

"Of course, what do you take me for?" she said, sounding offended.

Michael smiled at her tone. "Can you do it today? I need those rail tickets booked for tomorrow, to travel anytime, am or pm. Add F. Sucre to the list and change C. Westmoreland to B. Franklin. The rest stays the same. Got it?"

"Yeah. So still heading from south-west from here?" she asked.

"Dwight to Springfield. Then another set of tickets to St Louis for the next day. And remember, everything in cash and keep your head low. Get someone else to do it if you can."

"Gotcha, Mike. You can count on me."

"Thanks, Jenn."

"It's no biggie. I owe you. You got me on the straight and narrow when I needed it. Simon misses you, by the way."

Michael smiled, recalling their sessions together and Jenn's little son. "Consider it repaid, okay? And say hi to Simon. I miss him too."

"You're gonna come by one day, right? You know, when everything's sorted?" she asked in a tone which sounded more like a demand.

His lips twitched. "You'll never let me rest until I do."

The sound of her laughter reached him. "Alright. Take care, Mike."

He hung up.

C-Note immediately declared, "Man, we're not travelling out in the open like that. Not with everyone looking out for escaped convicts."

"No we're not," Michael stated blandly, and then waited for the other man to demand an explanation.

Frowning in confusion, C-Note nudged at the phone and said, "So what's that for?"

Michael smirked. "Diversion. We're heading in another direction."

A slow smile broke out across C-Note's face. Then, shaking his head slightly, he began to chuckle. "I gotta give it to you, man."

Michael lifted the bag off the floor and held it up to the other man. C-Note gave him a puzzled look, but took it from him anyway.

"What's up with this?"

"You need to head back to the hideout with it," Michael explained simply, not wanting to elaborate. The less the rest knew, the better it was for them.

C-Note scrutinised the area around them doubtfully. "What? You're staying here?" he asked, disbelief written all over his face.

Michael shook his head. "No, I'm not. But I need to go somewhere."

C-Note frowned, and then shook his head disapprovingly. "This is not the deal, man. We've done what we came for. I say we head back. Both of us."

Michael started to walk away. "Linc will know what to do if I'm not back," he said over his shoulders.

C-Note grabbed his arms and spun him around. "Look, Scofield. We made it this far because you headed the crew. You take off now and-"

Prying the other man's hand off his arm, Michael cut in calmly. "We'll split sooner or later."

Shaking his head, C-Note said, "Too soon. Plan is, we get to Mexico then we split."

"We're not going to Mexico. Not unless the airstrips open and Abruzzi finds a plane."

Glaring irritably, C-Note snapped, "Where are we going then? In that case, what difference does it make if I just head home?"

Giving C-Note a warning look, Michael cautioned, "If you're thinking of going to your family, I suggest you hold off for a while. Their phones would have been tapped by now."

C-Note looked away, his action instantly making Michael suspicious. Frowning, Michael wondered if the other man had gone and made a phone call while he was supposed to be on watch. It would be a problem if he did. Michael gritted his teeth in frustration. It meant that they would need to move out a lot sooner than he had thought.

He grabbed C-Note's shoulder, forcing the other man to turn around. "You called them." It was a statement, not a question.

C-Note shrugged him off. "I called my brother in-law and kept the call short. They won't know, Scofield."

Michael's lips tightened as he processed the implication of the call. The man's action put everything at risk. There was a chance that the authorities already knew they were in that area. And if they checked the phone records, they might be able to trace the call he made to Jenn.

"You don't know that." Michael let out a frustrated sigh, tilting his head down as he rubbed his temples. "You need to move sooner."

C-Note's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"You need to go back and get Abruzzi to call his contacts now. Leave as soon as possible," he directed urgently.

"I thought the airstrips are closed."

"Then you'll just have to move on foot. Don't stay in this area."

"Move? Out in the open? You've got to be kidding."

"Should have thought about it before you made the call," Michael pointed out in a hard tone. That one mistake could cost them a lot of trouble.

C-Note stared at him wordlessly. Then, sighing in resignation, he finally nodded. "I'll head back and let the rest know."

* * *

Michael kept his face shadowed under the rim of his hat when he handed the man at the ticket counter a couple of notes for his bus ticket. He should not have worried. The man did not even bother looking at him, instead, he just took the money and passed the ticket through a small hole in the glass panel with a bored expression.

Michael took the ticket and headed for the waiting bus, careful to keep his steps casual as he boarded the bus. The bizarre fact that he was headed back in the direction they had all been running from did not escape him, but he had no choice. He had to see her.

To his relief, the bus ride to the hospital was short. Nevertheless, he kept his head down, his hat pulled low over his eyes as the bus rumbled along the dusty roads, stopping now and then for passengers to get on and off. No one paid any attention to a lone traveller.

The bus dropped him off in front of the hospital. His initial relief at the fact that he did not have to remain in plain sight for long was short-lived. He had only taken a couple of steps when he suddenly halted in his tracks, tensing as he noticed a news van parked outside the main entrance. Keeping his head down, he told himself to walk casually past the car park towards the side entrance.

The hospital was so busy that no one took note of his presence. Nurses, aides and doctors were rushing in and out, frowns of concentration marring their faces. The patients were too wrapped up in their own problems to even glance up at him when he walked past, which was good news for him because he did not know if their pictures had already hit the media.

He carried himself confidently, walking briskly to match the pace of the hospital staff. Spotting an orderly with a trolley full of soiled hospital garments, Michael tailed him discreetly until they reached what appeared to be a quiet back-of-house area of the hospital. He watched the orderly enter a room at one side of the hallway, noting in satisfaction that the orderly went in without unlocking the door.

Michael continued walking past the door, then turned the corner. Lowering his head, he went to his knees, pretending to tie his shoelaces. When he heard the sound of the door opening and closing followed by the sounds of receding footsteps, he straightened and immediately headed for the door. Checking that no one was looking, Michael opened the door and slipped in, closing the door softly behind him.

Rows of shelves lined the cream-coloured walls, packed with scrubs, other hospital garments and medical equipments.

Michael went to along the shelves and picked out a set of scrubs, pulling it over his clothes. The scrubs were a little too small for him, but he did not have the luxury of trying everything on.

Just as he fitted the rough fabric of the surgical cap on his head and pulled mask over his face, the door opened. Michael tensed instantly at the intrusion.

"Doctor?" a pretty nurse exclaimed in surprise.

His eyes went to her nametag. 'Phay' was the nurse's name.

"Do you need something?" Phay queried, looking around questioningly. The laundry room was probably not a doctor's usual haunt. "Can I help?" she offered, smiling up at him.

"I was looking for some..." he paused, his eyes darting to the shelf to his right. "Gloves. There, I found it," he said, his voice muffled by the mask, grabbing the box of surgical gloves.

"Did they run out in surgery?" she asked in bewilderment. She went to the clipboard by the door. "Who's supposed to replenish it?"

Michael forced himself to make a distracted, but polite gesture of dismissal. "It's alright, Phay. I got what I need now," he said, and then marched briskly out of the room.

Outside, he allowed himself to exhale freely. That was close, he thought.

Taking a deep breath, he made his way back to the reception, swiping a clipboard off a trolley on his way.

The nurse, who was giggling on the phone with someone obviously not related to the hospital, looked up guiltily when he tapped his slender fingers impatiently against the smooth surface of the reception desk. She quickly said her goodbyes and hung up, giving him a questioning look.

"Has Sara Tancredi been checked on yet?" he asked brusquely.

The nurse turned to the computer. "Let me see." After a few seconds, she said, "Dr Roth checked on her an hour ago."

He frowned. "I'll look in on her again. The governor's anxious."

The nurse frowned. "But the governor just left about half an hour ago."

He interjected smoothly, "I ran into him a while ago. What's her room number?"

Turning back to the computer, the nurse read off. "192. And-"

Michael walked away before she could ask for his name.

Room 192 was on the first floor, Michael noted as he read the directory. Bypassing the lift, he went straight to the stairwell and climbed up to the first floor.

He slowed down slightly when he saw the police officers outside Sara's room, his heart rate picking up. A nurse was standing beside two of them, chatting idly. Would they recognise him? If they caught him now, it would be all over for him. There was no way he could outrun two cops.

It was risky, but it was something he had to do.

Steeling himself, Michael continued his brisk pace.

The police officers gave him a cursory glance as he approached, but did not bother to stop him. They were obviously far more interested in chatting up the pretty nurse. Without a single word, he opened the door and stepped in, closing the door quietly behind him.

His breath hitched in his throat when he set eyes on her. The confident façade he had been wearing earlier disintegrated.

Sara was lying in the bed with tubes protruding from her arms. She looked so pale, almost as white as the sheets around her. There was a blue tinge to her normally pink lips and her cheeks were pasty white. If not for the steady beeping of the monitor on the trolley beside her, he would have known that she was still alive.

He caused this.

He put Sara here, in this bed, in this state.

Swallowing hard, he approached the bed, numb with shock and pain. Regret washed over him, heavy and stifling in its intensity. He knelt down beside the bed, his hands reaching out to envelop her cold ones in his.

He pulled down the mask which was covering his face. It took him a while before he managed to form the words. "I know some people say that you can hear me. And I hope they're right." His breath caught. His next words came out in a broken whisper, "I'm sorry, Sara. I didn't want this for you. I didn't mean for this to happen."

He lowered his head, pressing her hand against his cheeks. His eyes burned and the pressure in his chest increased. His body shook involuntarily as he looked at her still form through his blurred vision. A single tear ran down his cheek when he squeezed his eyes shut, but he barely noticed it.

"Sara..." he whispered, his voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."

She did not answer, but he did not expect her to.

He dragged in a ragged breath in an attempt to calm himself. And then he lifted his head. He spotted a notepad and a pen next to the table, next to a vase full of colourful flowers. Reluctantly leaving her side, he went to pick it up, tearing a page off. A while later, he held a small paper flower in his hands.

He placed the paper flower beside the vase.

Then he went back to her side and held her hands. His heart constricted painfully as he let his eyes run over her delicate features.

"I'll explain everything to you one day. I'll tell you everything you want to know. No more secrets. If you forgive me, we can try again, when we're over all this mess. It's not going to be always like this, Sara," he said softly, his anguish unmistakeable.

His hold on her hands tightened as he leaned over her. "I'll find you again," he whispered against her cheeks, then brushed a soft kiss across her smooth skin.

Then he heard it.

A soft moan.

His breath quickened in anticipation, he pulled away from her quickly, his eyes searching her face. Was it just his overactive imagination playing up? Or had the movement been real?

Then he saw it.

It was just a slight movement but he saw it.

He held his breath as her eyes fluttered open.

* * *

t.b.c.

A/N: And that's it for now. Hope you've enjoyed it. Please drop me a few words to let me know what you think about it.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Prison Break is created and written by Paul Scheuring. This fan-fiction had been written purely for entertainment purposes. No infringement was intended and no profit had been made out of this.

A/N: Thank you all for your fantastic reviews. I'm glad that you've enjoyed the last chapter. Here's the next one. Hope you'll like it!

* * *

**Unexpected Repercussions – Chapter 5**

(by elle6778)

His heart pounded, deafening in its intensity as he held his breath. The sole focus of his eyes was the woman in front of him.

The woman whose eyes had just opened to glance around hazily before she finally focussed on him. A confused frown immediately appeared on her brow.

"Sara." His voice came out as a rough whisper. Unknowingly, he tightened the grip he had on her hands. Part of him dreaded her reaction. Dreaded the fact that she would soon give him that accusing look. The betrayed look that would shatter his heart. Perhaps he should have stayed away. Then he would not have to go through the accusation. But he had to see her, he had to know that she was going to be alright.

She blinked slowly. He could see that her pupils were dilated. What on earth had happened to her? How did she end up collapsing from a drug overdose? What did she do last night?

"Sara?" he repeated more insistently. A warning alarm began to sound in his head. Why was she just staring at him like that? Like she was not really seeing him. Like she was just looking through him. "Sara, say something," he pleaded desperately.

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Instead, she licked her dry lips, and then turned to look around the room. Spotting a water jug and some plastic cups nearby, Michael went to get it for her. Pouring some water into a plastic cup, he handed it to her and watch her drink it greedily. Her full attention was on the cup in her hands and she barely seemed to notice him standing there.

When she finished the water, he took the cup from her and knelt down beside her bed. "Sara," he called out again. Then, when he still received no reaction, he grabbed her hand firmly. "Look at me, Sara."

She turned slowly until her eyes locked on his.

When he searched her face, a sinking feeling appeared in his midsection.

There was no sign of recognition in her gaze.

* * *

Sara looked up at the man in front of her. His face swam in her vision and she blinked in a futile attempt to focus. She could make out that he was dressed like a doctor, but he did not look at her as if he was one. He seemed far too concerned to be an impartial medical practitioner.

His words were coming to her like the sound was filtered through some sort of damper. It was muffled, making it hard for her to hear what he was saying. But his tone was earnest. Was he trying to tell her something important?

It was so hard to think. And she felt so tired. He was asking her something, but her mind was too weary to form a response. Her body felt heavy, like lead.

All she wanted to do was to sleep, but she had heard this voice. Something inside her had told her to open her eyes. But why?

She stared past him to the silent television mounted on the wall. The images were flickering too fast, too bright. The colourful patterns seemed like strobe lights to her. It was making her headache worse. Making the burning pain at the back of her neck, in her spine, worse.

He turned in the same direction towards the television, and then she heard him gasp. Getting to his feet abruptly, his gaze remained fixed on the moving images on the screen. As she watched through her hazy vision, he lifted his hands up and pressed them against the sides of his head. The action seemed strangely familiar to her, but when she attempted to remember where she had seen it, the throbbing pain piercing through her skull stopped her.

When he looked back at her, she could make out that he seemed alarmed. His eyes were wide as they flitted back and forth between her and the television screen.

He bent down quickly, taking her hand in his. She looked down at his slender fingers entwined around her smaller ones. Again, that flash of familiarity returned, but the hammering in her head chased it away before she could make sense of it, making her frown in frustration.

"Sara. I've got to go," he said softly, but she could not mistake the urgency in his voice.

Her vision was beginning to clear, and now she could see even the blue and green flecks in his intense hazel eyes. She knew this guy. She had seen those mesmerising eyes before. But where? And when? And what was she doing here in the hospital?

Not knowing what else to say, she said, "Why?" The broken sound came out strange to her. She could barely recognise her own voice.

He looked at her for a moment before he lowered his head, pressing their joined hands to his forehead. She heard him inhale a ragged breath. "I hope you'll remember this. I'm sorry I got you in to this. I didn't want you to get hurt," he declared in a voice filled with anguish. "Sara, please. Please be okay."

Sara frowned. Got her into what? "It's okay," she whispered so softly that she did not think that he had heard her.

He took a deep breath, his head still lowered. His voice hitched as he said, "I'll fix this. Just… wait for me. I'll come back."

_Wait for me…wait for me…wait for me_… It repeated like an insistent mantra in her head. Someone had said that to her once before.

_Michael._ The name came automatically to her mind.

Michael. That was his name.

Michael Scofield.

A blinding pain seared through her mind and she let out an involuntary groan. Flashes of memory began to bombard her like an uncontrollable avalanche. Suddenly, everything came back to her in a rush.

_The infirmary. Michael smiling up at her as she gave him his insulin shot._

_Her removing a blood-soaked sock from his feet. A tear-stained Michael telling her, "Don't make me lie to you. Please."_

_The space in the ceiling void in A-Wing. Michael telling her about Baja and Thailand._

_Her father's harsh words after her escape from the prison riot._

_The entrance to the visitation room. Michael's wife walking out. The sudden, bitter taste of jealousy._

_Her father's presence on her birthday replaced, as always, by a bouquet of flowers. _

_Michael's red origami flower sitting on her desk._

_The burn on his back, marring the perfect picture of his tattoo._

_The passionate expression on his face when he kissed her. When he asked her to wait for him._

_The feeling of betrayal when she found out what had happened to her keys._

_Her father's cold indifference to her when she confronted him about Lincoln. Her realisation of her father's manipulation of the situation to his own benefit._

_Leaving the door unlocked._

_The vial of morphine. The feel of the sharp tip of the syringe as it pierced her skin. Craving numbness, not wanting to feel. Only wanting the pain to go away. _

She realised now that in her distress, she had taken far too much.

"Michael?" she whispered tremulously. She swallowed hard as her mind cleared further. The fact that he was there, dressed in scrubs, told her that the escape had taken place. So what was he doing here?

His head snapped up, the shock evident on his face.

She swallowed past the dryness in her throat. "What are you doing here, Michael?" she asked, glancing at the door. What if someone found him here?

But why should she care after everything that had happened? He was just another man in her life who had seen fit to betray her trust. Was there nobody she could count on anymore? No one she could trust? No one she could believe in? Her father, Michael, they were all the same.

His grip on her hands tightened as his eyes searched hers, as if to convince himself that she was really there. "You were on the news. What happened, Sara?" he asked quietly, a worried frown on his face.

She wanted to laugh, but the only thing that came out was a strangled gasp. His concern for her felt so real. Like always.

Then a small voice sounded at the back of her mind. _What if it was real? What if he really cared? What if he meant everything he had said?_

Evading his eyes, she shook her head. She could not look at him. Not at the sincerity in his eyes, or else she might be tempted to believe everything she so badly wanted to believe. "Nothing," she finally said cagily. She did not want to go into an explanation. It was too hard to explain anyway.

A sharp tug at her hand made her turn to him. "Look around you," he said harshly, gesturing at the monitor and the tubes, his motions broadcasting his agitation. "This is not nothing, Sara! Collapsing from a drug overdose is not nothing!" he hissed, frowning deeply. Then, in a softer voice, he continued, "Don't do this. Don't push me away."

A bark of laughter escaped her lips. "Don't push you away? I cared, Michael. I cared and look what it did to me." Her voice was full of self-mockery.

He shook his head slowly, almost sadly. "You wanted to make a difference. Don't punish yourself for the mistake I made," he implored, his expression tortured.

She hardened herself. "The mistake's mine to make," she said flatly. "Lincoln's free now. You don't have to pretend to care."

"I'm not pretending, Sara," he insisted vehemently.

She did not know what to say. Part of her desperately wanted to believe him. The part which still believed that she could make a difference. To make things better. But there was a part of her which did not want to take the risk.

She had taken a risk when she went to her father with Lincoln's file. But her father had done nothing but to use it to further his career. He lied to her. Her values and beliefs did not mean anything to him.

She had taken a risk when she let herself care for Michael, not only in the doctor-patient sense, but something deeper. But he had sent everything crashing down on her when he told her about the escape plan. She had been just part of his big, elaborate plan.

His voice brought her out of her contemplations. "Sara. I need to go," he said regretfully.

At his words, an inexplicable feeling of rejection washed over her, but she shook it off. "Okay," she said flatly.

He straightened slowly, his eyes not leaving hers. "Believe me when I say that not everything was a lie."

Her heart twisted painfully. "Don't, Michael," she breathed out softly as she squeezed her eyes shut. "Please don't. Just go." She could not deal with it now. It was still too painful.

Her eyes remained shut, but she could feel him move closer. His breath fanned her cheeks just before she felt the soft, gentle touch of his lips against her skin. Her breath caught as her heart constricted with emotion.

Then the sound of the door opening and closing reached her ears.

When she opened her eyes again, he was gone. A sudden feeling of loss came over her. Glancing around the room, she spotted an origami flower on the bedside table. With trembling fingers, she picked it up. It was a flower that would not wilt with time. Something symbolic of permanence. Something lasting.

A lone tear trickled out of the corner of her eyes.

_What has she done?_

"Take care, Michael," she whispered softly to the empty room.

* * *

Considering how numb he was feeling, Michael was glad that he still had the presence of mind to lift the surgical mask over his face before he left the room.

The police officers only looked up briefly when he exited the room. Simply giving them a nod, he continued to make his way to the stairwell.

He had taken only a couple of steps down the stairs when his stomach suddenly lurched queasily. The stress of the situation must be getting to him, he attempted to reason to himself as his face twisted in discomfort. Or perhaps the lack of food. Pulling down the surgical mask, he braced an arm against the wall as he attempted to calm himself. Leaning his forehead on his arm, he took a deep breath. He had to remain calm. He had to think.

Everything was going wrong.

He did not even want to recall the sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach when he had first thought that she did not remember him. The mere idea that he had caused such a disaster was enough to make him sick. Then, once the initial shock of that had worn off, his short-lived relief had been replaced by the anguish brought on by Sara's reaction. Her reaction was not unexpected, but it still hurt.

Sara was bitter. That was glaringly clear. To his dismay, he realised that not only she distrusted him but she was also scared. And it was all his fault.

And to make things worse, C-Note was now in trouble.

He could only guess that it must have been because of that single phone call C-Note had made earlier. The short news broadcast he had seen on the television did not elaborate on the facts, but Michael did not expect them to. Well, at least not until they succeeded in apprehending their target, Michael thought with a grimace.

What would this mean for Lincoln, Sucre and Abruzzi? Did C-Note manage to get the message across to them before the police flooded the area? Were they already on the run now as well? Was it safe for him to call them?

It had been relatively straightforward when the plan just involved getting Lincoln out. Sure there were times when things had not gone according to plan, but the elements were still contained. But now, everything seemed so fragmented with everyone all over the place. His control was slipping, everything was falling apart and he could not shake the feeling of helplessness which was beginning to descent upon him.

A tentative voice behind him broke his train of thought, momentarily bringing him out of his dejection.

"Doctor, are you alright?"

He froze. His immediate thought was that his mask was off. Carefully, he peered out of the corner of his eyes to the owner of the voice. She was standing a few steps up from him.

It was the nurse from the laundry room. He remembered that her name was Phay.

As calmly as he could, he said without turning around, "It's okay, Phay. I'm alright."

His mind raced. Michael knew that he was cornered. Raising his mask was out of the question. He could not do it without raising suspicion. And he could not leave either. Not without exposing himself. He clamped down on the urge to groan.

The curiosity was evident in her voice when she asked, "Are you our new surgeon? Was it you I bumped into earlier?"

He nodded, and then said briefly, "Just transferred here today."

"Great! We sure need more surgeons here." She paused for a while, and then continued anxiously, "You sure you're alright?"

Michael tensed when he felt a hesitant touch on his shoulders. He closed his eyes, hoping that she would decide to leave before she saw his face clearly.

"You're obviously not," she remarked dryly. "Come on, let me have a look," she coaxed gently.

Quickly, he replied, "Don't worry. I'll be fine in a minute."

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw her move closer. Then the next thing he knew, she slipped. A small shriek escaped her lips. Desperately, her arms flung out in an attempt to hold on to something solid.

Michael did not stop to think of the implications of his actions. Instantly propelled into motion, he spun around, grabbing one of her hand while his other arms went around her waist.

Which brought his face just inches from the nurse's terrified eyes.

Her grip on his arms was tight as she exhaled in a rush. "Oh, thank you," she said breathlessly, her expression now awash with relief.

It did not take long before the inevitable happened.

Michael watched apprehensively as her eyes began to widen in recognition as they swept over his features. Her grip on his arms went slack. There was no mistaking that she knew who he was.

Slowly, he released his hold and backed down the stairs away from her. She remained rooted to the same spot, her lips slightly parted and her eyes rounded in shock.

Would she sound the alarm? He wondered briefly before he spun around. His footsteps echoed in the stairwell as he sprinted down the last flight of stairs, pulling up the mask over his face.

* * *

**t.b.c.**

A/N: Hope that you've enjoyed the MiSa encounter! Please review to let me know what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Prison Break is created and written by Paul Scheuring. This fan-fiction had been written purely for entertainment purposes. No infringement was intended and no profit had been made out of this.

A/N: Thank you all for your reviews. I'm glad you've enjoyed the MiSa encounter.

* * *

**Unexpected Repercussions – Chapter 6**

(by elle6778)

Michael burst out of the stairwell, his entire body coiled as tightly as a spring. This could be the end for him. If the nurse sounded the alarm, he would be screwed.

He spotted the back entrance to his right at the end of a narrow hallway, the one used by the paramedics and the ambulances. That looked like a good exit. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to walk casually to avoid drawing attention to himself. If he was careful, he might still have a chance of escaping.

The narrow hallway seemed endless. His steps felt stiff as he made himself step forward, his eyes focussed only on the point beyond the door. The few paramedics who were using the route were too preoccupied to even glance at him when they brushed past, much to his relief.

Just as he neared the door, a commotion exploded outside. A couple of paramedics rushed in with an unconscious man on a stretcher. The male paramedics at the front shouted, "Make way! Incoming casualty. Someone page a doctor!"

Michael pressed himself against the wall to let them pass.

The other paramedic swung around to glance up at him, her long blonde hair whipping around her shoulders, sweeping past a little blue tag displaying the name, Brittany, on her shirt. "Doctor!" she exclaimed, the relief evident in her eyes when she saw him.

Michael tensed, realising that with the scrubs, it was easy for them to mistake him for a medical practitioner. His mind whirred, trying to find a way out of the situation.

She grabbed his arm urgently. "Doctor, he's losing blood fast. We need some help here," she explained anxiously.

Swallowing hard, he glanced down at the unconscious man on the stretcher. The man had been in an accident of some form from the looks of it. Much as he would like to help, it was impossible, seeing that he was not really a doctor.

In a tight voice, he replied, "I'm sorry. I'm off duty. You need to page someone else."

The young woman frowned. "But you're still in your scrubs. Why-"

The other paramedic up front yelled hurriedly, "Come on, Brit. We need to move."

Sparing him another quick, confused glance, the blonde paramedic grabbed hold of the stretcher and pushed it forward quickly. Her actions bumped the stretcher lightly against the wall.

Michael felt something land on his feet.

When they had gone past, Michael looked down. A brown leather wallet, a set of keys, a flip-top cell phone and a small plastic tray were lying next to his feet. He bent down and picked up the objects, arranging them back in the tray and looked back in the direction the paramedics had gone. Those things were probably the personal belongings of the unconscious man.

Carefully, he set them on a small table by the door. His eyes were drawn back to the cell phone. He glanced around again. The hallway was quiet. Without another thought, he took the cell phone and slipped it into his pocket.

As he stepped out, he wondered how long he could keep on the surgical scrubs without drawing attention to himself. He needed it to cover himself but it would be pointless if it attracted more attention.

He had only taken a couple of steps with he heard the sound of boots hitting the floor rapidly in the distance behind him. Apprehensively, he glanced over his shoulders.

Two security officers were marching down the hallway towards him.

A fleeting thought that perhaps they were not after him crossed his mind. But he could not afford to take the risk. Not with its implications.

So he ran.

Instantly, he heard shouts behind him, ordering him to freeze.

Not a chance, he thought grimly as he lengthened his steps, dashing past bewildered looking passer-by's. He ran across the busy road, the pounding of his heart sounding louder to him than the irate honks of the drivers.

Adrenaline pumped through him as he continued to sprint down the street, weaving between vehicles. The shouts behind him spurred him on even as his muscles protested at the abuse.

He skidded past the corner, his breath ragged. Spotting a fence to a garden beyond, he ran for it and clambered over the wall.

His feet landed on soft, well-trimmed grass. A quick scan told him that there was no one in the garden.

Spotting a trashcan by the side of the house, he headed towards it, pulling off the sweat-soaked surgical cap and mask. Lifting the metal lid, he threw the fabric in. The thin cotton top and pants followed soon after.

A small wooden storage-shed nearby caught his attention. Michael looked around another time before he went to the small structure and opened the door, stepping into the semi-darkness. As he shut the door behind him, he noticed that he was surrounded by all sorts of objects, from garden tools to cushions and some boxes with old clothes. Hiding in there would give him a moment of reprieve from the manhunt out there while he planned his next action.

He ran his hand over his head in a frustrated gesture. Everything was falling apart. The urge to just hide until everything calmed down was almost overwhelming, but Michael knew that it was one thing he could not afford to do.

Lincoln. He needed to know how they were doing.

Michael extracted the cell phone from his pocket and dialled the number of the cell phone he had left behind.

The phone barely rang once before Lincoln's anxious voice came on. "Mike?"

Michael closed his eyes and exhaled a breath of relief. "Linc. You okay?"

Then Michael heard Abruzzi's and Sucre's exclamations in the background.

"Where is he?" Michael heard Sucre ask, while Abruzzi yelled, "What do you think you're doing, Scofield?" Even though the phone, Michael could detect the agitation in the ex-mob boss's voice.

"Shut up, Abruzzi!" Lincoln snapped back before he said to Michael, "Mike. I'm glad you called. Heard the news on the radio. Thought that you and C-Note would be running by now."

"We split up, Linc before the chase started. I don't know where he is now."

Lincoln sounded perplexed. "Split up? But why? You two were supposed to just head out for supplies and then come back."

Michael leaned his head back against the wooden wall with a sigh. "I know. Change of plans," he said levelly.

"What happened out there, Mike?" Lincoln asked, his worry clear from his tone.

Michael pinched the bridge of his nose. "C-Note called home. Must have tipped off someone. They know we're in the area, Linc. You need to get out. Now."

"Abruzzi arranged for a chopper right after we've heard the news. We'll be leaving in about half an hour. Can you make it back?"

Michael shook his head even though his brother could not see it. "No. It's too far and I got someone on my tail as well."

The confusion was evident in his brother's voice when he asked, "But I thought you said it was only C-Note."

"Yeah, at first. But someone recognised me. Long story. Tell you when we meet. We need to be even more careful now that our faces are on the television."

"Where are you?"

Not wanting to go into the details, Michael simply said, "Not important right now. I'll meet you as planned."

Lincoln sounded as if he wanted to say something else, but in the end, all he said was, "Make sure you get there, Mike."

Michael sighed out loud. "I'll have to. Just keep to the plan, okay?"

"The plan's falling apart, Mike," Lincoln said gravely.

Closing his eyes, Michael said tightly, "It's all we have for now. Be careful, Linc."

"You too," his brother said before hanging up.

Returning the phone to his pocket, Michael looked around the storage-shed, trying to see if there was anything he could use to help him. His eyes landed on the cushions. An idea for a disguise suddenly occurred to him. It was a bizarre idea, he thought as he went towards the pile of small, rounded cushions, but it might work. Right then, he was willing to do anything so that he could move around freely.

He pulled his black jumper over his head and placed it on the back of an old chair. His white shirt followed next, exposing his tattoo-ed body to the chilly air. Michael shivered for a moment, goosebumps breaking out on his skin, before he picked up the cushion. He removed the covers and held the round, spongy object to his stomach. Spotting a roll of duct-tape on one of the shelves, he went to get it.

He peeled a strip of tape off, and then with one hand holding the cushion, he taped the cushion around his midsection. A few more strips of tape found their way around him, binding the cushion securely to his body.

Acknowledging that that was the best he could do with the limited resources, he picked up his shirt and shrugged into it. Unsurprisingly, the buttons refused to meet over his newly acquired bulge. He settled for just tucking the shirt into his slacks and then pulled the stretchy black jumper over everything. It was a tight fit, but it would have to do.

He rubbed his jaw, feeling the prickly bristle against his fingers. His now extended midsection did not help the problem with his face, he realised. Even with a hat, his features would be easily recognisable, as he had found from the encounter with the nurse earlier.

A small pile of old linen napkins caught his eye. Picking one piece of fabric up from the pile, he rolled it into a tight ball in his hands with a thoughtful look on his face. Then, carefully, he tore the napkin down the middle and rolled them into two small balls. Opening his mouth, he stuffed the balls between his teeth and cheeks.

He glanced at his reflection in an old, stained mirror as he pulled his bucket hat on. Michael moved his jaws side to side and made the necessary adjustments to ensure that the wads of napkins remained in place. The extra padding on his midsection and in his cheeks made him look fatter than before.

It made him unrecognisable as the convict who had escaped from Fox River Penitentiary.

Satisfied with his disguise, he took a deep breath and went to the door.

Carefully, he opened a small crack in the door and peered out surreptitiously. Judging by the silence, no one was about. Stealthily, he opened the door wider and stepped out into the sunlight. Walking was awkward, but it was better than being recognised.

He looked back at the fence where he had come from, dismissing it as a viable exit. Instead, he headed for the low fencing in front.

A quick leap and he was on the other side, standing on the pavement. The place was strangely deserted, which felt a little odd after the mad chase not too long ago. The security guys probably had already given up or were continuing their search somewhere else.

The next step in his plan was to see Westmoreland's daughter. That was the least he could do considering what he owed the old man. But without any form of transportation, it was proving to be a problem.

Michael continued walking until he reached a busier area. Shops lined both sides of the street. Thinking that he needed some supplies, he went into a large, impersonal supermarket. He took a basket and walked down the aisles, dropping a canvas backpack into the basket, followed by a pair of heavy-rimmed spectacles. A few other items went into the basket before he reached the food section.

His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he had not had any food for some time. The wads of linen napkin in his cheeks would make eating difficult, if not impossible, but he knew that he should get something. He tossed a few packets of food and drinks into the basket.

Considering that no one spared him a second glance, the disguise was obviously working. The cashier who rang up his purchases even smiled at him as he packed everything into his new backpack.

The walk to the highway was a long one, but the route was quite apart from the few vehicles whizzing by. Michael managed to get some food down his throat on the way, and then carefully replaced his disguise.

When he thought that he had gone far enough, he stopped and looked back. A truck was approaching. Michael stuck him thumb out, but the truck just sped by without even slowing down.

Three more vehicles passed by in a similar fashion before a metallic blue Rover 600 pulled up by the side of the road.

A brown-haired teenage boy with a cap pulled low over his face and a blonde pre-teen stared out curiously at him from the car. Then a woman with curly black hair and bright blue eyes leaned out of the window. "Need a ride?" she asked. "Where are you heading to?"

Speaking through the wads in his cheeks was awkward, but Michael managed to force out, "Indianapolis."

The woman beamed. "That's where we're headed." She gestured to the back, where the blonde boy was sitting. "Hop in."

Michael nodded, attempting a smile. "Thanks," he said, and then opened the door and slid in.

As she pulled out onto the road again, the woman looked through the rear-view mirror at him and said, "I'm Anne, by the way." She nudged at the teenage boy beside her. "This is my son, Thomas. And the one beside you is Timmy."

"I'm Mike," Michael introduced himself.

"You sound funny," the young boy beside him said with a giggle, looking up curiously with big baby blue eyes.

"Timmy! Where are your manners?" his mother admonished sternly. Giving Michael an apologetic look through the rear-view mirror, she said, "Don't mind him."

Michael smiled. "Don't worry. He's adorable," he said, looking at Timmy. Spotting a toy car beside the boy, Michael pointed at it and asked, "Is that yours?"

Timmy nodded enthusiastically, picking it up in his hands. "Yeah. Mom got it for me last week. It's cool."

As the boy went on describing his new toy, Michael listened intently, nodding encouragingly for him to continue. Anne glanced back at them occasionally, a small smile on her lips.

The entire situation made Michael wonder about his own future. Would he ever be free again, or would he be forever a hunted man. He needed to clear Lincoln's name and once that was done, his brother could be free. But what about himself? Lincoln had been incarcerated in the prison because of a crime he did not commit. But what about himself? Michael knew that his own crime was real, he had held up a bank. So that meant that he had to return to prison, even when Lincoln's name was clear.

Michael sighed. He had asked Sara to wait for him. But was he being fair to her? How long would she have to wait if he got himself thrown back into prison again?

"Mike? You okay back there?" Anne said softly, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Yeah, thanks," he replied with a genuine smile, and then noticed that Timmy had fallen asleep beside him. "Timmy's asleep," he told her quietly.

Anne turned to look briefly over her shoulders, her blue eyes twinkling. "Finally, some peace," she said, rolling her eyes. She then turned her attention to her other son who was also asleep in the passenger seat, and ran a gentle hand over his head.

Michael smiled softly at the scene. "You're lucky to have all this," he said, gesturing to both her boys.

"Yes, I know. Do you have any children?" she asked politely.

Michael looked out of the window, watching the sign that said Route 65 fly by. "No. Maybe one day, but now's not a good time." He shut his eyes. That was an understatement, alright. Being on the run was not exactly the best time to have these sorts of commitment.

"Well, it's not the same for men, is it?" she remarked with a laugh, and then leaned down to switch on the radio. "Let's see if there's any news on the traffic condition. We've got about another hour to go before we reach."

The traffic report came on. The reporter droned on about the traffic condition in the area, but Michael was barely listening. He was thinking about Westmoreland's daughter and how should he break the news to her.

Anne's groan reached his ears. "Ugh, not this again!" she exclaimed.

"What?" he asked. And then he heard it.

"…_It is reported that progress have been made on the manhunt for the fugitives from Fox Rivers. The-"_

"How many times must they broadcast this?" Anne said in exasperation as she reached down to turn it off.

"Wait!" Michael interjected hurriedly. Then, in a calmer voice, he said, "I haven't heard this."

"…_believed to be heading west. Earlier today, the search extended to Dayton, one of the towns which the authorities suspect to be one of the stops the fugitives had taken en-route to their destination. However, they were unable to locate any of the men. Local residents are warned to be vigilant as these men are considered dangerous. Now, on to our next breaking news…"_

Michael closed his eyes briefly and exhaled a silent breath of relief. It sounded like C-Note had managed to escape them after all. He glanced down at his watch. It had been almost two hours since he last spoken to Lincoln. If everything had gone according to plan, Lincoln, Sucre and Abruzzi should be in Indianapolis by now.

Soft music filtered through the car. The soothing sound was too much for his weary body to resist. His eyes grew heavy, and then it all went dark.

* * *

(to be continued)

**t.b.c.**

A/N: That's it for this week! Hope you've enjoyed that! Please review to let me know what you think.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Prison Break is created and written by Paul Scheuring. This fan-fiction had been written purely for entertainment purposes. No infringement was intended and no profit had been made out of this.

A/N: Hehe, I've just checked and as far as plot is concerned, the story had passed its halfway mark about one chapter ago! Yippee! Thanks for your review of the last chapter. Hope you'll all enjoy this one.

* * *

**Unexpected Repercussions - Chapter 7**

(by elle6778)

A loud bang jarred him awake rudely.

Michael jack-knifed up, his eyes darting around apprehensively. For a moment, disorientation overcame him and he struggled to remember where he was. His hazel eyes took in a small television mounted on the wall in front of him before they flitted to the window on his left. The cream-coloured curtains fluttered around gently, letting in rays of sunlight which landed on the smooth surface of a pine desk. The clothes he had worn yesterday were in a neat pile on the bedside table, beside the cushion.

The motel.

He was at the motel, his mind supplied, allowing him to relax back onto the bed. Although lumpy, it was the most comfortable bed his body had rested on in months. Rubbing his eyes, he stared at the ceiling, noting the cracked plaster to its underside as the events of the previous evening replayed through his mind.

Dusk had approached when they finally reached Indianapolis. Despite her protests, he had insisted that the woman drop him off just on the edge of the city. After her kindness to him, the last thing he wanted was for her to be in trouble, on the off-chance that he got caught. He had then made his way on foot until he reached this motel.

Michael yawned and stretched his arms above his head. Swinging his legs out of the bed, he stood up and headed towards the bathroom, clad only in a pair of boxers.

A twist of the tap on the wall brought a small trickle of water from the showerhead. Then the trickle grew and cascaded over his weary body in a rush of hot water. He ran his palms over his face and sighed at the nearly forgotten luxury.

As the water continued to flow down his sleek body, his mind cleared enough to formulate a plan for that day.

Westmoreland's daughter was in Sacred Hearts Hospital, located within walking distance from the motel, so it should not take him long to get there. With his disguise, he should be able to make it there fairly easily.

He turned the tap off and wrapped a white towel around his hips. Beads of water still clung to his skin as he surveyed his appearance in the mirror over the sink. The dark two-day-old stubble along his jaw helped to cover his features, Michael thought in satisfaction as he ran his hands over the rough hair. Then he walked out, heading for his new backpack.

He pulled out the change of clothing he had bought yesterday and slipped them on over his once again distended midsection. Clad in a pair of blue jeans and an oversized beige shirt, he reached into the pockets of his old slacks and pulled out a wad of notes, grimacing as he counted them. He had to do something about his financial state. At the rate his cash was going, it would not be long before he ran out altogether.

He was going to have to talk to Lincoln about Westmoreland's money under the silo in Utah. Westmoreland was right, there was enough to split between them. C-Note already knew about the five million dollars. But so did T-Bag, Tweener and Sanchez.

Michael frowned, wondering if T-Bag and Tweener had already made a move in that direction. Or perhaps the authorities had managed to beat it out of Sanchez. Either way, it meant that they had to hurry. Their survival depended on it.

The linen wads in his cheeks and the dark-rimmed spectacles completed his disguise. Gathering his belongings, Michael headed for the door.

* * *

The park was quiet, which was not surprising considering the early hour. 

He walked until almost the end of the park and sat down on the bench. The hospital was across the road from his bench, and he could clearly make out the entrances and exits. Previously, in his rush to see Sara, he had neglected to survey the hospital before he entered. He had no intention of making the same mistake this time. This time, he would make sure that he had a better idea of where the exits were before he entered, just in case something happened.

A small dog ran up to him. The excited canine wagged his tail and jumped, putting his furry paws on Michael's knees. For the first time in a long while, Michael laughed out loud, suddenly feeling free.

He looked up when a petite blonde clad in jeans and a hooded jumper ran up to them, her expression apologetic. A short leash was dangling from her left hand.

"I'm so sorry," she rushed out, her large green eyes expressing her sincerity. "Shouldn't have taken the leash off him."

"It's okay," Michael said. His smile forced back the linen wads in his cheeks, but the awkward action was getting easier. "He's a lovely dog," he added.

She tried to catch her dog, but he kept dodging her. Michael bent down and easily scooped up the reluctant dog in his arms. "Here. Put it on," he said to her.

Another girl in the distance hollered, making Michael look up, "Marloes! We've got to go!"

The girl waved at her friend and then quickly attached the leash around the struggling canine's neck. She took her dog from him and then flashed him a grateful smile. "Thanks," she said.

Michael watched her retreat, scolding the small dog as she walked back to her friend, and then returned his attention back to the hospital. His keen eyes noted the entrance and exit doors, the fire escape and the window openings, hoping that he would not need to use any of the two latter options.

Taking a deep breath, he stood up and made his way to the front entrance.

Stopping beside a flower stall, he picked up a bouquet of flowers and paid the vendor before he entered the hospital. At the reception desk, he was directed to the second floor.

When he reached the room, he pushed the door open a little and walked in. Shutting the door softly behind him, his gaze landed on a pale woman lying on the white sheets. Her features confirmed her identity to him, there was no mistaking the family resemblance. Only this woman was obviously ill, her features gaunt, her shoulder length hair hanging limp around her face. Surrounded by flowers, tubes and monitors, she was fast asleep, oblivious to his presence.

Michael placed the bouquet of flowers beside the rest of the flowers and sat down in the chair beside the bed. Westmoreland should be there, not him. The old man had played such a large role in the escape plan that it seemed unfair that he did not even get the chance to see his daughter one last time.

"Miss Westmoreland?" he called out softly. "Anna?"

She stirred slightly and turned towards him. Then her eyes opened.

"Miss Westmoreland, I'm Michael," he said quietly, not wanting to startle her.

Her brows came together, obviously confused. "Do I know you?" she asked weakly.

Michael shook his head. "No. But I know Charles, your father," he explained.

Her eyes watered. Then, she lifted a trembling hand to her lips. Her sorrow was so palpable that Michael could almost feel it.

Inhaling through the lump in his throat, he continued, "He wanted to come to see you, but he couldn't. So he sent me instead. He said to give you his love."

A sob escaped her as she said, "They called me yesterday morning with the news. He shouldn't have done it. Shouldn't have risked it to come see me," she said brokenly.

Michael felt his heart constrict at the sadness in her tone. "No. He needed to see you. Enough to do anything."

She glanced at him, her sobs subsiding as she studied him. "You're one of them, aren't you?" she asked, and then looked around warily. "You shouldn't be here. It's not safe."

"I promised him," Michael said simply, and then pulled out Westmoreland's watch from his pocket. "He wanted you to have this." He put the watch in her unsteady hands.

A fresh flood of tears trailed down her cheeks as she opened it. "He had this for so long," she whispered, studying the watch sadly. Then she looked at Michael again. "I wanted him to visit because I don't have much time left."

"He told me. That was why he wanted to desperately to come out."

She nodded. "I also wanted to give him something. Something that I've kept from him for a while now. And now I can't," she said sadly.

"What is it?"

"But I need to give it to someone," she continued as if she had not heard his question, frowning.

Michael waited for her to go on. To his surprise, the frown on her brow suddenly eased to be replaced by something akin to realisation.

She then gave him an assessing look, her eyes surprisingly sharp considering her state. "He trusted you enough to ask you to come see me. And you came despite the risks. You didn't have to keep the promise, no one would know but the two of us. But you did anyway."

"It was his last words, Miss Westmoreland," Michael remarked gravely.

"But most people would rather save their own necks," she pointed out. Then, exhaling loudly, she reached to the bedside table and pulled out a small, brown leather-bound journal. "I want you to have this." She pushed the book into his hands.

"What is it?" Michael asked, looking down at the book in confusion.

"My journal."

Michael's brow furrowed. Why would she give him something like this? Something so personal.

"I don't want it to fall into wrong hands and I have no one else to give it to. Friends have a habit of disappearing when a close member of your family has a reputation, not to mention ending up in prison." Her lips lifted in a mirthless smile before she continued, "And the things inside probably wouldn't make much sense other than to someone who knew my father really was." She gave him a meaningful look.

"DB Cooper," Michael whispered softly as comprehension sank in. There must be something in there about Westmoreland's activities.

She smiled, shaking her head slightly. "My father never told anyone about it but me. But I'm not surprised that you already know. I think he trusted you."

Michael gave her a cautious look, and then said carefully, "So you know about the silo-"

She interjected in a low tone, "-in Utah. Yes." Nodding to the book, she said, "That's why you need to keep hold of that."

Confusion marring his expression, he said, "Miss Westmoreland, you need to be a little more specific here. I'm afraid I'm not really following."

She gestured weakly for him to lean closer. When he did, she whispered into his ears, "I found the buried money, but I couldn't use much of it without raising suspicions. I didn't want the government after me. The sum I kept with me was enough for me to live on comfortably. The rest, I kept aside."

"Kept aside," Michael echoed, the implications of her words sinking in. Did that mean that Westmoreland's money was no longer under the silo as the old man had thought?

She yawned before she continued, "I've been trying to find a way to tell my father about it, but with all the security around him, it's impossible. So I put in down in there."

"You mapped out its location in the journal?" Michael asked with a frown. It sounded too simple to him. Too risky. Anyone who read the journal would know where it was hidden.

Smiling, she shook her head wearily. "Not literally, but in some ways, yes." A far-away look entered her eyes. "And oh, I hope you play chess. My father loved chess. We used to play together."

"I do," he said, wondering what it has got to do with the hiding place.

"Then you'll see what I mean when you read the journal," she said enigmatically just as her eyelids began to droop.

Michael sat down on the edge of her bed and took her thin hand in his. "Are you okay?" he asked, concerned. His presence seemed to have drained her even further, much to his regret.

Eyes still closed, she smiled softly. "I'm tired now. Thank you for coming."

"Do you want me to call the doctor?"

She shook her head as she patted his hand. "Now go. Be safe."

He felt strangely reluctant to leave the lonely woman. She was approaching the end, but no one was there to sit beside her, to hold her hand. But she was right, he had to leave.

Standing up, Michael gave her one last look before he turned around and left the room.

* * *

The half-empty bus bumped along a dusty, quiet road. Trees whizzed past, and so did the desolate landscape, sparsely dotted with farmhouses and tractors. 

Michael stared blankly out of the window of the bus, mulling over the conversation he had just had with Westmoreland's daughter. The small journal was tucked securely in the inner lining of his jacket. He itched to study it but the bus was hardly an appropriate place to do so.

Her chess comment really puzzled him. It was clear that it had something to do with the contents of her journal, but what?

Chess was a strategy game, the pieces moving one after another, complimenting each other, all in the quest of capturing the opponent's king. Maybe she had managed to somehow convey the location of the money by the sequence of the moves. Westmoreland would know how to decipher it, considering the old man's passion for the game. But Michael would not know for sure until he looked closer at the journal.

When a familiar signboard rushed past the window, Michael's eyes sharpened in recognition. Standing up, he made his way to the front of the bus and stepped off at the next stop.

He watched the bus as it droved off, leaving a trail of dust behind it, before he started walking.

It took him almost half an hour before he set eyes on a derelict looking single-storey farmhouse, almost completely hidden by the overgrown trees and bushes around it. The walls were leaning slightly to one side, threatening to fall over. However, Michael knew that it was stable enough for them to use it. The windows were boarded up from the outside, preventing him seeing inside.

A feeling of apprehension suddenly overcame him. What if Lincoln and the rest did not make it there. What if they had been caught?

Michael closed his eyes and inhaled. There was only one way to find out.

He opened the door and stepped into the living room.

An unexpected force impacted upon him, sending him sprawling onto the floor. His hat flew off his head and the spectacles fell off.

"What the-" he started, then realised that he was pinned down. A surge of panic rose in him.

"Whoa! Hold on, Abruzzi. It's Scofield," Michael heard a voice exclaim in surprise. C-Note made it, he thought fleetingly, recognising the voice.

His mind cleared as his panic receded. Michael grunted and shoved hard against the body holding him down. "Get off, Abruzzi!" he ordered tersely.

Abruzzi scowled as he got up to stand beside a small, rectangular table. Running his eyes up and down Michael's new disguise, he remarked, "What happened to you? You look like shit."

Before he could reply, a burst of laughter came from the other three. Sucre extended a hand to help Michael up. Smirking, Michael glanced up at his cellmate, who was standing beside a smiling Lincoln.

"Man, that's one good cover," Sucre said, gesturing at the padding and Michael's face.

"Needed it to move around," Michael stated simply.

Lincoln closed the gap between them and enveloped him in a bear hug. Then, pulling back and releasing him, Lincoln asked, "You okay?"

Michael nodded. "Did what I needed to do." He picked up his backpack and laid it on the table. Then he looked at the rest of the escapees, all standing in the middle of the sparsely furnished room. The last occupants had left some furniture when they abandoned the farmhouse. "So, anyone want to fill me in? What happened, C-Note?" he asked.

C-Note shrugged carelessly. "I headed back to the hideout after you left, but the next thing I knew, there were cars coming at me from all directions. Had to take a detour. Hid under a truck for a little while and then ran back. Got there just before they left."

Abruzzi muttered under his breath, earning a sharp glance from Michael.

C-Note sneered at the mob-boss.

"Good thing you did, or we'd just have to leave without you," Sucre commented. Then flicking a questioning glance at Lincoln, he continued apprehensively, "I called Maricruz."

Michael inhaled sharply.

Before he could say anything, Lincoln interjected, "They already know we're in the area so I thought, why not make the call before we left. There's no harm done, Mike. And I made a call as well."

Michael gave his brother a thoughtful look and then nodded. "You're right. Did you speak to LJ?"

"Called Veronica. She told me that LJ's fine. Not saying much since he got caught."

"Runs in the family, huh?" Abruzzi taunted, raising an eyebrow.

Lincoln tensed visibly. Directing a glare at Abruzzi, he warned, "Watch what you're saying."

Abruzzi held his hands up, widening his eyes. "Hey, just expressing an opinion, that's all," he replied, completely unperturbed.

"We're not fighting over this, alright?" Michael turned to Abruzzi. "It might help if you keep certain opinions to yourself."

Abruzzi leaned closer and hissed, "Listen, Fish. The only reason I put up with all this…" He gestured at the rest. "…is because of our deal. Now, the way I see, I've done my half. And now, you owe me YOUR half."

Michael gave him a unreadable look. "Maybe I've got another deal for you."

Abruzzi snorted and shook his head. "No chance. The deal is the deal. You deliver what you said you would. No other deals," he spat out harshly.

Michael smirked. "A seven figure number in cash might change your mind," he dangled. Then waited.

The sudden speculative light in Abruzzi's eyes was unmistakeable as he straightened immediately. "What are you saying?"

C-Note gave Michael a meaningful look. "You're saying what I think you're saying?" he asked, an eyebrow raised.

Michael only continued to watch Abruzzi, not answering C-Note's question.

Glancing back and forth between C-Note and Michael, Sucre piped up, "Anyone want to tell me what's going on? A little lost here."

Lincoln frowned at Michael. "But we can't afford to be seen out there."

Michael glanced out of the corner of his eyes towards his brother. "We can't hide forever. The money will buy us some mobility. We need to get hold of it."

"What money?" Sucre asked, completely puzzled.

"Yeah, Scofield. What money? Seven figures, you said?" Abruzzi asked, his eyes gleaming.

Michael nodded. "Seven figure number. If you're in for this one, our last deal is off."

C-Note grinned. "And if he's not, there's more for each of us," he remarked. "Not a bad thing, if you ask me."

Abruzzi tossed him a glare before returning his attention to Michael. "Listen, why do I have to give up something when the rest of them don't even have to do anything for this escape?"

"Hey," Sucre interjected indignantly. "I risked my life going back to patch up that hole. Not to mention I lost my conjugals."

Abruzzi rolled his eyes up. "Big deal." Then he nudged towards C-Note. "What about soldier-boy here, huh? What did he do?"

Michael said levelly, "He already knows about the money. And before you ask, all this would not even exist if Linc was not in Fox Rivers." He smirked, "Looks like everyone's accounted for, Abruzzi."

Abruzzi stalked slammed his hands against the table. "I don't believe this!" he snarled.

C-Note snickered, and then tilted his head to one side. "Something eating you, Abruzzi?"

"Shut up!" Abruzzi snapped irritably, his brow furrowed. He walked to the boarded-up window and peered out through the gaps.

Michael watched him silently, knowing that Abruzzi was weighing the advantages and disadvantages of the latest 'deal'. Then he broke the silence. "You think it over. But don't take too long. We don't have much time left.

Abruzzi grunted in response to his words.

The corner of his lips lifting, Michael gestured for Lincoln to follow him to the back of the farmhouse.

* * *

**t.b.c.**

A/N: Hope you found that enjoyable. Please review because it really encourages me. Thanks!


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Prison Break is created and written by Paul Scheuring. This fan-fiction had been written purely for entertainment purposes. No infringement was intended and no profit had been made out of this.

A/N: Thank you all for your reviews. Loved them all and I feel really encouraged by your words! This chapter is a little longer, so I hope you'll enjoy it!

* * *

**Unexpected Repercussions – Chapter 8**

(by elle6778)

Michael turned around just as Lincoln pushed the kitchen door shut behind him. From the look on Lincoln's face, he knew that his brother had questions, and it did not surprise him.

As Lincoln watched silently, Michael began to remove his disguise carefully, setting the cushion and the rest of the accessories on the kitchen table. Then, leaning the small of his back against the edge of the table, he gave Lincoln his full attention.

"Mike, what's going on here? What's with the new deal with Abruzzi?" Lincoln asked tersely.

"I need to get him away from Fibonacci," he responded calmly.

"Letting him in on a part of the money doesn't mean Abruzzi is going to let of Fibonacci," Lincoln pointed out.

Michael shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe he'll be happy to leave things as it is and just disappear. He's a wanted man now, Linc. He can't move as easily as he used to."

Lincoln rubbed his forehead, his displeasure at the situation clearly displayed in his movements. "We can't trust the guy. When I spoke to her over the pay-phone, Veronica said something about Nick being involved in some deal with him."

Michael's eyes narrowed. "What deal?" he asked, his tone guarded. What was Abruzzi doing behind their backs?

Lincoln swept his hands over his shaved head. "Abruzzi wanted Nick to bring Veronica to him. She didn't know why. But Nick set her free."

Michael frowned, deep in thought. What was the connection between Veronica and Abruzzi? Then realisation dawned. "The picture."

"What are you talking about?" Lincoln asked, a wary expression crossing his face.

"Abruzzi got her picture when we were doing the thing with his boss, Falzone. You know, that picture you took on our camping trip? After Falzone got popped, Abruzzi held on to that picture. I guess he meant it when he said that he needed it as insurance," Michael explained gravely.

"To make sure you give up Fibonacci after we got out?"

A grim expression crossed his face. "Looks like it."

Lincoln remarked tersely. "Should have taken back the picture from him."

Michael sighed. "Too late for that now. And I'm sure he'd have found another way, even without that picture. Veronica's safe anyway, so that's what that counts."

"My point is, the guy can't be trusted," Lincoln complained, pacing the room, his jerky steps displaying his agitation.

Michael said levelly, "He can be trusted to be a crook. We'll just have to be careful. What else did Veronica say?"

"That we should find a way to get to this one place we used to meet."

Michael began to worry. "She said that over the phone?"

"Don't worry. No one knows where or what it is besides the two of us. It's from back when we were dating. She wants to tell us something, but not over the phone. Something about my case."

"She found something?" Michael asked, his calm façade hiding his anticipation.

Lincoln nodded. "Sounds like it. And it must be something big because she's being so careful not to say anything."

"We need to see her. After we're through with Westmoreland's money," Michael said thoughtfully.

Lincoln inhaled deeply. "There's another thing, Michael. Veronica also said something about Sara."

His brother's grim tone sent warning alarms ringing in his head. Cautiously, Michael asked, "What is it?"

"Sara has been arrested yesterday."

Michael's jaw dropped.

* * *

Sara stared blankly at the grimy concrete wall which made up one side of her small holding cell at the back of the police station. Dressed in a pair of standard-issue grey shirt and pants, she was sitting cross-legged on her bunk, her mind filled with thoughts of what had brought her there.

She had been doing a lot of thinking since she had woken up to find Michael sitting beside her. About her father, about Michael, about Katie. About herself and the morphine.

A part of her wanted to fight this. Fight the fact that she was in custody for being an accomplice in the escape of the inmates. But part of her told her that she deserved it. It was the truth after all. Because she had helped Michael and the rest escape. Only she did it because she wanted to make a difference, and not only because of the way she felt about Michael.

She had thought about the way she had cried after Michael had left her room, leaving only an origami flower by her bedside. The only person who cared enough to make sure she received something lasting. The only person who managed to wake her up from her slumber.

The accusations she had thrown at him ate at her. The hurt in his eyes had been genuine, she realised that now. He would not have come to see her, risking his safety if he did not care. That trip would have served him no purpose. The only thing there was her, and he had been there just to see her. It was not something someone would do unless they care.

When she had heard the sound of the alarm, and the drumming of footsteps racing out of the building in pursuit of Michael, her heart felt as if it would stop. She had realised then that she did not want him caught. She wanted him to be free.

_Wait for me…_

The echo of his words came back to haunt her.

Her lips twisted at the irony of it. There was no chance of that happening now considering that she was the one who would soon be incarcerated in prison if they found her guilty of the charges. Not unless Michael decided to break into in women's prison in order to help her escape.

_Well, Sara, you wanted to make a change. Now you've succeeded_, a voice in her head told her.

Sara sighed. Strangely enough, she did not blame Michael or Lincoln. Instead, she blamed her father. If he had taken the time to look at Lincoln's file and had taken the right action, none of this would have happened. But he had been too preoccupied with himself to be concerned with the welfare of a death-row inmate.

Her mind went back to the interrogation session earlier that day. They fired questions, one after another to her, but she said the same thing. Simply that she must have forgotten to lock the door. A mistake anyone could make.

She had been able to tell that they did not believe her. But she simply did not care. As far as she was concerned, she had done the right thing. To refuse to help Michael would have meant that she just stood by to watch as an injustice was being carried out. And if that landed her in prison, it was by her own making.

The door to her cell clanged, snapping her out of her thoughts.

A police officer walked in.

"Sara Tancredi. You have a visitor."

Sara stood up, wondering who it was. Maybe it was her father.

She snorted. Knowing how much he valued his reputation, there was no chance that he would set foot in such a place, she thought in derision as she followed the officer out through the narrow, secured corridor. Her steps were loud, echoing down the small, narrow space.

The officer opened a metal door at the end of the corridor and ushered her into a room bare of any furnishing except two chairs and a table between.

A man dressed in an immaculately pressed black suit was sitting behind the table, watching her intently as she approached. The officer gestured for her to sit opposite the man and then left the two of them alone.

"Miss Tancredi," the man said in greeting, his hands clasped in front on him on the table.

"Do I know you?" she asked guardedly, a small frown marring her brow. Was he there to interrogate her as well?

"My name's Carl Weston. I'm a lawyer hired by your father."

Sara rolled her eyes upwards. "He's too busy to pay a visit to his daughter," she stated blandly. "Now that's surprising."

The lawyer did not bat an eyelash at her words. Instead, he continued as if she had never spoken. "Your father sent me here to get you out."

Incredulous, she raised her eyebrow. "Really? And how is he proposing to do it?"

"A vice-president could bring about a lot of things, Miss Tancredi."

Her lips thinned. Now that the former Vice-President Reynolds had been sworn in as the president, her father finally got his hands on the coveted position of the vice-presidency. "Send him my congratulations," she said flatly.

The lawyer nodded. He then continued, "He will release you on one condition."

"What?"

"That you'll legally change your name once you're out."

"Legally change my name?" she echoed, not quite believing what she was hearing.

"Yes," he confirmed tonelessly.

Just as she thought that her father would not sink any lower, he hit back with an even lower blow. No doubt the reason for the name change was to help keep his precious name out of the press if she decided to go against the law or do something embarrassing again.

She shook her head, chuckling mirthlessly.

The lawyer frowned deeply, breaking his neutral expression. "Is that a no, Miss Tancredi?"

"He's unbelievable," she muttered under her breath.

The lawyer inhaled before he said, "He also wanted me to pass this on to you." He slid a small envelop across the table at her.

She tore it open carelessly and scanned through it. The words would have shocked her if she had received it a week ago, but now, she felt too numb to respond to her father's latest act of selfishness. Sara wondered if he even loved her. And if he did, he was showing it in a very strange way.

"So, he's going to just cut me off, huh?" she remarked coldly. "How very kind of him to reassure me that nothing will change except my name and we can still meet up for lunch," she scorned. "How sweet of him."

The lawyer did not respond to her sarcastic remarks. "You will still keep your trust fund. All we need to do is to convert it into a new one, in your new name," the lawyer explained.

She threw the letter onto the table carelessly and leaned onto the back of the chair. "I guess it wouldn't be too much of a change, considering how often I come into contact with him nowadays," she remarked.

The lawyer gave her an unsympathetic look. "I need your answer, Miss Tancredi. If you do not accept the offer, then we would just have to let justice run its course. But Vice-President Tancredi would rather avoid that. We have been able to keep most of this off the press so far and he is keen that it remains that way."

Of course he would, Sara thought in disgust. He would not want his name splashed all over the papers in relation to her latest activity.

She thought back to all their times together. Her father had never approved of anything she did. He had been the absentee father who only turned up whenever it suited him. And normally, he had turned up only to give her another lecture on the way she was wrecking her life.

By doing this, she would be free to pursue whatever she liked without having her father hanging over her disapprovingly. Unbeknownst to him, he has finally given her the freedom she had always wanted. She was free to do what she liked.

Finally making her decision, she said resolutely, "Tell him okay. I'll do it."

The lawyer smiled for the first time in the meeting.

* * *

McCormick's Creek State Park, Indiana was 50 miles south-west of Indianapolis.

Michael stood with the other four escapees at the entrance to the park, waiting their turn to be admitted. They were all outfitted in various forms of disguises and all sported generous midsections.

In front of him, Lincoln and Sucre had large cowboy hats hiding their heads and dark sunglasses on their faces.

Michael turned to look over his shoulders at Abruzzi and C-Note. Dressed as an old man, Abruzzi was hunched over, leaning his weight against a tattered cane, as C-Note appeared to hover solicitously over him. Michael fought his urge to grin at the look of displeasure on C-Note's face.

They paid and made their way past the entrance to find themselves surrounded by scenic nature. Tall, lush trees surrounded them and the air was filled with sound of chirping birds and the occasional calls of the wildlife.

As they passed, a park ranger next to the entrance called out, "Park's closing at 11pm. That's in three hours. Make sure you all make it back out here by then if you don't want to spend the night with the wild animals."

Michael nodded at him, and then exchanged a meaningful glance with Lincoln. They had no intention of leaving the park by that time. Anna's leather-bound journal had told him that the money was hidden along one of the hiking trails in a small cave off a cliff, but he could not possibly do what he had planned to do with other visitors around.

As they moved away from the other visitors, Abruzzi hissed irritably, "What now, Scofield?"

Being hunched over a cane obviously was not doing much to improve Abruzzi attitude. And neither was squinting through a pair of ill-fitting spectacles, Michael gathered.

"We find the right trail. Then we wait," Michael said quietly, his sharp eyes glancing around, looking out for the trail they were interested in. A wooden signboard pointing to their right said 'Trail 5'. Michael's lips lifted. "We're in business, gentlemen."

Lincoln came up to him, his eyes also fixed on the signboard. "Is that the right one?"

"If I've read the journal correctly, that's the one."

C-Note shook his head in confusion. "Fish, that journal's full of chess moves. Nothing else. How can you tell if that's the right one?"

"Those moves tell us where the money is," Michael explained as he started towards Trail 5.

"This might just be a wild goose chase, for all we know," Abruzzi scoffed sceptically.

Lincoln threw Abruzzi a sharp look. "You're still free to walk away."

Abruzzi glared at him. "And why should I do that?"

Michael studied Abruzzi, noting the impatience in his gait and the cagey light in his eyes, and wondered not for the first time if the man would really keep to his end of the deal. At the moment, his attitude was not encouraging.

"Hey, we're supposed to be a team here, remember?" Sucre said with a frown.

"Not for long," Abruzzi muttered as he kicked a twig out of his way.

C-Note gave him a disgusted look, but did not say anything as he continued to make his way down the trail.

Sucre, for once, decided not to let Abruzzi's comment go. "Look, Abruzzi. What's your problem, exactly?" he challenged with a frown.

Abruzzi sneered. "You really want to know? I have a problem working with certain people, that's all."

C-Note stopped abruptly and swung back to face Abruzzi. "Watch your mouth, old man!"

Unconcerned by the other man's warning, Abruzzi shoved him in the chest. "Who are you calling an old man, huh?"

Slapping the other man's hands away, C-Note snarled, "Without all of us, you'll still be stuck in that hole. So, if I were you, I'll keep my mouth shut."

"Or what?" Abruzzi taunted.

"Enough!" Lincoln snapped, glaring at them one after another.

His expression cold, Michael said flatly, "You're not doing yourself any favours here, Abruzzi." The guy was making real enemies out of C-Note and Sucre. And Michael already knew that Lincoln harboured a grudge against the ex-mob-boss for cutting off his toes and beating him up.

Unperturbed, Abruzzi came back with a cocky, "Do I care? Once we get the money, we're splitting."

"_IF _we find the money," Michael reminded him.

"We had better find the money, Scofield," C-Note said with a worried frown. "Can't disappear without it."

Sucre threw his hands up over his head. "We've got to find it." He turned his head upwards. "Maricruz and the baby will need it."

And he needed it to buy his way to clear his brother's name and to find Sara, Michael thought with an inward sigh. But he could not afford to be distracted by those thoughts right now. Resolutely ordering himself not to think too far ahead, Michael turned away from the rest and continued to walk along the trail.

A beech-maple forest surrounded them, the trees towering over to form a canopy over the trail. The place was silent bar the occasional sounds of wild animals. Soon they should hit another trail. And that was the one he was really interested in. That was the one with Westmoreland's money.

Sucre came up beside him. "Hey, Fish, you think the money's really there?"

Michael shrugged. He did not know for sure, but there was no reason for Anna to lie to them. "We'll find out soon. Need to get to Trail 3 first."

"That's where Anna left it?" Lincoln asked.

With a nod, Michael replied, "It's hidden in a cliff, just after the limestone canyon."

C-Note frowned. "How are we supposed to get to the cliff, Scofield?"

"If Anna managed it, I'm sure we could as well," Michael replied calmly. Then he suddenly stopped. "We're turning right into Trail 3 now," he announced.

The walk along the second trail was harder as they had to hike upwards. Limestone formations and scenic waterfalls surrounded them. Michael wished that he had the time to just sit there to appreciate the natural beauty of his surroundings.

When they reached one of the higher points, he pulled out a small hand-drawn map from his pocket and studied it carefully, occasionally glancing around at his surroundings. A smile of satisfaction graced his lips when he found what he was looking for. They were in the right place.

Although it was already dark, a couple of other visitors were still milling around in the area. Knowing that it was best that they found somewhere close by to hide as soon as they could, Michael gestured for the rest to follow him into the adjacent forest.

"What are you doing, Scofield?" C-Note asked in bewilderment as he stumbled blindly through the bush.

"Getting us invisible."

"What? Here?" Sucre asked, blinking at the thick bush surrounding them.

"What's the plan, Mike?"

"We wait."

* * *

They had been sittingmainly in silencein the darkness for the past couple of hours but Michael could sense the impatience in the way they kept shuffling. He had no doubt that each of them were thinking of ways they could use Westmoreland's to make their journeys a little easier.

A quick glance at his watch told him that it was past eleven. "We should move now," he said as he stood up. The park should be closed to the public by now, leaving them free to carry out what they had come to do.

"Do you know where we're going?" Lincoln asked.

Michael nodded as he walked to the edge of the cliff where there was a small board explaining the geology of the limestone formations. "Yes. Here," he said, nudging towards the edge of the rugged cliff. With Lincoln at his side, he stepped to the edge and looked down. The drop to the bottom of the cliff was easily 50 feet.

Lincoln glanced sideways at him worriedly.

Sucre sighed heavily as he looked down the cliff. "If we're not so desperate, I would say that this is suicide," he muttered shakily.

"Scared, Sucre?" Abruzzi mocked, raising an eyebrow.

"Some of us have more to lose than our mob friends," C-Note said pointedly. "Like families. And children. Not that I expect you to understand that."

Wanting to avoid another confrontation, Michael quickly said before Abruzzi could retort, "We need to find a way down." He looked around in the moonlit darkness until he saw what he was looking for. Then he gestured towards a slight dip in the ground. "We need to head that way."

"I'm right behind you," Lincoln said immediately, lifting up his jumper to unravel a long length of rope from his midsection.

Wordlessly, the rest of the escapees followed them. As Lincoln began to tie the rope to a sturdy tree trunk nearby, the rest unravelled the hidden rope from their midsections and began to do the same. The other ends of the ropes were then tied around their waists.

When the ropes were secured, Michael gripped it tightly and lowered himself down the side of the cliff. Gritting his teeth in concentration, he felt around in the darkness for footholds in the limestone cliff and slowly descended. The risk of falling off the sheer cliff pumped adrenaline through his system, giving him the extra strength to hold on as he swung down unsteadily.

It took him a while to spot the small rock outcrop which Anna had described in her journal, but when he did, he swung the rope towards it and landed on the narrow ledge.

"Swing to the right," he quickly instructed the rest who were still above him.

Only when they had all landed safely on the ledge that Michael allowed himself to breath easily. Switching on his torch, he pulled the rope inside a short distance before he detached it from his waist and tied it around a rock. The rest followed suit.

Michael brought his torch up in front of him and shined it into the small, musty cave, and then immediately ducked as a flock of birds flew out in fright.

"What's the-" Sucre exclaimed in surprise just before he flattened himself to the ground.

"Birds. We scared them," Lincoln said shakily as they all straightened.

Still breathing erratically, Michael forced himself to exhale slowly and then made his way further into the cave. He caught sight of a large rock formation in the shape of a sleeping bear and went towards it, his heart now pounding in anticipation. Several smaller rocks were stacked over the large rocks.

"We need to move these rocks," Michael said to the rest as he began to lift up the smaller ones.

C-Note frowned as he stepped closer. "It's buried there?"

"We'll see," Michael replied quietly.

Between the five of them, the pile of rocks gradually reduced. Then Lincoln exclaimed, "I see something."

Everyone stilled.

"Where?" Abruzzi asked impatiently.

Quickly, Michael rolled a few more pieces of rock off the pile, exposing a large black bag lodged under the large rock.

"That's what I think it is?" Sucre said in awe, his eyes wide.

"Come on, come on. What are we waiting for?" Abruzzi hissed in excitement as Michael pulled the bag out.

He looked around, noting the anticipation on each of their faces. "This is it, guys," Michael said in satisfaction as he dropped the bag onto the floor. "We'll be going on our separate ways after this with our own share."

The cave was silent as they all held their breath collectively while Michael opened the bag. A burst of excited exclamation followed when they saw the bills through a layer of transparent plastic.

Inside the bag, Michael found five other sealed waterproof pouches. One appeared to have been opened. It must have been the one Anna dipped into. In her journal, she said she had taken about 50,000 dollars, which meant that he had to take 10,000 dollars from each of the other pouches to even everything out.

"What are you doing?" C-Note asked warily as Michael began to tear open the pouches.

"Redistributing," he said, and then explained what Anna had done. "We'll each have 10,000 dollars short of a million."

Abruzzi gave him a suspicious look. "How do we know that you're not just taking more for yourself?"

Michael tensed. Then, glancing at Abruzzi out of the corner of his eyes, he said coldly, "You're welcomed to count each of them if you like."

"Don't listen to him, man. Just do what you need to do and give us our share," Sucre said, throwing a frown at Abruzzi.

Michael continued to redistribute the money under the watchful eyes of a silent C-Note and a grumbling Abruzzi. When he was done, he stood up with a small smile.

"This is the end of our partnership, gentlemen. Once you get your cash, you're on your own. I'm sure I don't need to tell you to keep your head low. It has been a pleasure working with you," he announced quietly.

Sucre grinned as Michael passed him a pouch. "It's been great, Scofield," he said before he gave Michael a warm hug. "Keep in touch, alright?"

Michael nodded. "Not soon. But we'll try." Then he tossed a bag to C-Note.

C-Note caught it easily and then stepped forward to slap Michael on the back in a comradely fashion. "Thanks, Scofield."

Abruzzi's expression was mixed when he took his share from Michael.

"Remember our deal, Abruzzi," Michael warned. There was still that doubt in his mind as to whether Abruzzi would keep up his end of the bargain. The last thing he wanted was for Abruzzi to come after him or any of his friends and family to demand Fibonacci after this.

Abruzzi raised his eyebrows. "What do you take me for? I'm a man of my words."

Lincoln snorted. "Just stay away if you know what's good for you," he warned.

Abruzzi smirked.

"Linc," Michael called out with a smile, handing his brother his share.

With a grin, Lincoln took the pouch and inserted it into his backpack.

"Alright, guys. Time to split," Michael declared in a tone of finality.

They went to the mouth of the cave, each of them with a satisfied look on their faces.

Securing the ropes around the waists again, Sucre, C-Note and Lincoln were out first onto the narrow rock outcrop outside the cave, each of them holding on to the rope dangling down the side of the cliff.

Michael was securing his own rope to his waist as the three of them started to climb, when a crumbling sound reached his ears. A sharp exclamation of horror immediately followed.

Michael turned around just in time to see Abruzzi's terrified expression as he disappeared off the ledge down the side of the cliff.

* * *

**t.b.c.**

A/N: Ahhaha! Abruzzi's in trouble! Please review and if you could tell me your thoughts on this chapter, I would really appreciate it!


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Prison Break is created and written by Paul Scheuring. This fan-fiction had been written purely for entertainment purposes. No infringement was intended and no profit had been made out of this.

A/N: Thank you for reading and reviewing! I hope that you'll continue to enjoy the story. Very long chapter coming up...

* * *

**Unexpected Repercussions – Chapter 9**

(by elle6778)

"_Abruzzi_!" Michael yelled out in horror. Immediately dropping to his knees, he scrambled towards the edge of the cliff. Once there, he carefully shined his torch down.

Abruzzi was lying on a ledge about twenty feet down, his face twisted in pain. Michael noted with a sinking feeling that the junction of the man's arm and shoulders was bent at an unnatural angle under him.

Struggling up into a sitting position, the petrified man said shakily, "Give me a hand up, man. The rocks are crumbling under my feet!"

As if on queue, the sound of falling rocks reached Michael's ears followed by a sharp intake of breath from Abruzzi. Grimacing, Michael said, "We got to climb down to get you, Abruzzi. A hand won't help. You're too far down and you're not in any state to climb."

Scrambling to his feet, Michael turned around to face the rest of the escapees, all of them looking at him with various expressions, uncertainty being the predominant one. "I need some help here," Michael said in a level tone.

C-Note shook his head. "You've got to be kidding, Fish. I'm not going down there," he exclaimed incredulously, a frown marring his forehead. "No. Definitely not for him. This is it, man. I'm out of here." With a brief wave, he started to pull himself up the cliff using the rope they had secured earlier.

Michael shifted his gaze towards Sucre and Lincoln.

As C-Note had done before, Sucre shook his head at Michael. "No. I'm sorry, man. I'm not risking myself now that we've got this far. I've got my kid and Maricruz to think about," he said regretfully before he turned and followed behind C-Note, heaving himself up the rope. Then, turning to look back over his shoulders, Sucre said meaningfully, "Take care of yourself for once, Scofield."

Michael looked at their departing figures. He understood their position. After all, Abruzzi had given them no reason to help him. The old mob boss had gone out of his way to make enemies of them.

He sighed wearily as his eyes met his brother's, his one and only hope in his quest to help Abruzzi. "Linc, we can't leave him here."

"What are you waiting for?" Abruzzi yelled from below. A pause followed, and then, his tone displaying his uncertainty, he asked, "You're not thinking of leaving me here, are you?"

"Shut up, Abruzzi!" Lincoln snapped down the cliff. Then he turned to Michael with a frown. His voice was harsh when he said, "I can't believe this. You're talking about a guy who beat you up with double-D batteries in a sock and then cut off your toes. And now you want to risk your life to help him?" Lincoln shook his head disapprovingly. "C-Note and Sucre got the right idea. Forget it, Mike. Just let him rot down there."

"Come on, guys," Abruzzi called out, the desperation in his voice now clearly distinguishable. He had obviously heard Lincoln's words. "Scofield? I was desperate at that time. I told you what the deal with Falzone is." Then he paused and then called out, "Sucre? C-Note?"

Lincoln let go of his rope and crawled to the edge of the cliff, looking down. "C-Note and Sucre already left," he informed Abruzzi icily.

The unsteady smile on Abruzzi's face showed how nervous he was. "Burrows. Help me up. Please," he pleaded.

"I can't do this alone, Linc," Michael said to his brother's back. He knew how much his brother hated Abruzzi, but he needed Lincoln's help to get Abruzzi up. He was just not ready to leave the old mob boss to die.

Lincoln ignored Michael and shouted down, "Why should we help you up? We know what you've done with Veronica. That wasn't part of the deal, Abruzzi. The deal was between you and us. Not Veronica."

"I know. I know. I get it. We have a new deal now. Veronica's out of the picture. I promise. Come on, anything you say, guys. Just help me up!" he said desperately.

"You know what? I don't trust you," Lincoln declared stonily.

Abruzzi let out a frustrated exclamation. "Why not? I didn't hide anything from Scofield, Burrows. I _told_ him I was holding on to that woman Veronica's photo for insurance. I just needed to make sure you keep to your end of the deal, Scofield. Look at it from my end. How do I know you won't just run off with Fibonacci's location once we're out? That's all. What else have I done, huh? I've been busting my guts to push things along in this escape."

"Yeah?" Lincoln said sceptically. "How?"

Abruzzi gestured wildly, his agitation causing a few more rocks to crumble down the cliff. His anxiety was clear in his expression when he responded, "I had a blade to my neck when Scofield said there were too many of us. I took one for the team."

Michael frowned. "What happened?"

Turning his eyes upwards, Abruzzi admitted, "I was trying to _persuade_ T-Bag to drop out when he sliced me."

Michael exchanged a surprised glance with Lincoln. He had always wondered what had caused Abruzzi's almost fatal wound. And he had suspected T-Bag of having something to do with it. But now he knew for sure.

Michael sighed. He knew he had to help Abruzzi, no matter what he said. There was no way he could forgive himself if he let Abruzzi plummet to his death hundreds of feet down the cliff. Not even Abruzzi deserved that kind of fate.

He looked up to find that Sucre and C-Note had already disappeared into the night. Out of Abruzzi's earshot, he tapped his brother's shoulders and asked softly, "Linc, can you go up and drop me one of either Sucre's or C-Note's rope? I need to lengthen my rope to get down to him."

Lincoln's lips compressed in disapproval. "Mike. This is not a good idea. It's too dangerous for you to go down. Not to mention he's not worth all that trouble."

Abruzzi's voice reached them. "Scofield. Help me up and we're all clear. I swear I won't be after you for Fibonacci's location or anything else."

Michael stilled. He heard the underlying meaning of Abruzzi's words. "But you'll be after him," he stated flatly.

Abruzzi growled in irritation. "What do you expect, man! He put me in that hole!" he snapped impatiently.

"Drop Fibonacci and I'll help you up," Michael stipulated coldly.

"I have a score to settle with him, Scofield!"

Michael adopted a nonchalant tone. "I guess I'll just leave you to it, then," he said with a shrug.

"_No! Wait!"_

Silence ensued.

For a tense moment, Michael thought that Abruzzi had fallen.

And then he heard it.

"Okay. _OKAY_! It's a deal," came a grudging answer from Abruzzi.

Michael smiled in satisfaction. Abruzzi had so far never gone back on his words. Mad as it seemed, he trusted the ex-mob boss to keep his promise.

"He's lying, Mike," Lincoln declared with a frown.

"I can't just leave him here, Linc," Michael insisted. "His words had been good in the past."

"You're going to trust him?"

"He has given me no reason not to."

Lincoln sighed, rubbing a hand over his head in a show of exasperation before he started walking towards the face of the cliff. When he walked past Michael, he muttered, "This had better be worth it, Mike."

Michael did not answer. Instead, his eyes followed Lincoln as he pulled himself up the rope.

"Scofield?" Abruzzi's hesitant voice came from below.

He went to the side of the cliff and looked down. "Hang on, Abruzzi. We'll get you up."

"Look, I want you to know that I didn't plan to harm that girl," Abruzzi explained. "She's just for leverage. Just in case."

"Just remember our deal. That's all I ask. Don't come after me or anyone close to me or Fibonacci. You've got the money. You can start over again. There's no need to chase the past."

Abruzzi fell silent.

Michael moved away from the cliff edge, leaving Abruzzi alone to deal with the idea. A few minutes later, Lincoln's head and shoulders jutted out of the side of the cliff. When Lincoln swung another rope closer to him, he stretched his arms out. As his hands closed around the knotted end of the rope, Michael nodded up at Lincoln and the rest of the rope dropped down. Rapidly, Michael tied one end of the rope together with his other rope and then around his waist. He tugged it, testing its strength.

Satisfied that it would hold, he began to lower himself down the cliff. When his feet touched the ledge, Abruzzi's uninjured hand came up to grab hold of the rope.

"You okay?" Michael asked, his level voice masking his concern at the distended shape of the upper part of Abruzzi's right arm.

"It just popped out of the joint, that's all. I don't think it's broken."

Remembering that Lincoln had once reset his shoulders when he dislocated it as a kid, Michael said in an offhand manner, "Linc might be able to help." He untied the rope from himself, and then retied it around Abruzzi and himself.

Abruzzi snorted as he checked the knots. "Yeah, he would rather throw me down the cliff."

Michael arched an eyebrow. "Can you blame him?" Grabbing hold of the rope, he said to Abruzzi. "Hang on tight."

Abruzzi grabbed him around the waist. Michael grunted heavily as he heaved himself up on the rope. The rope swung unsteadily in the air. Gritting his teeth, Michael gripped it tighter and used his legs to stabilise them. The chords in his neck stood out prominently as he strained with the effort of supporting both weights. His muscles screamed at the abuse, but he could not afford to stop until he reached the top. It was much further this time and he had a dead weight on him.

Their ascent seemed to have taken forever, but he finally grasped the edge of the ledge in his hand. The sweat from his forehead dripped down, stinging his eyes, but Michael just ignored it. As he began to heave himself over the edge, another pair of hand grasped his wrists, pulling him up.

"Thanks, Linc," he said gratefully as his brother helped both him and Abruzzi up to the ledge outside the cave.

Abruzzi nodded at Lincoln. "Thanks, Burrows."

Still panting, Michael gestured in the general direction of Abruzzi's arm. "You think you can do anything about that, Linc?" Noting his brother's reluctance, he added, "Look at it this way, he'll be on his way sooner if we don't have to look after him."

With a look of resignation, Lincoln went to Abruzzi and inspected his arm, pushing the man's backpack strap to the side. "It's dislocated," he diagnosed. Then he looked at Michael. "Needs resetting."

Before Michael could answer, Abruzzi replied tightly, "Do it."

Holding on to Abruzzi's shoulder in one hand and his dislocated arm in another, Lincoln warned, "This is gonna hurt."

Abruzzi expelled a muffled groan as Lincoln cracked the bones back in place. He then staggered back unsteadily when Lincoln released him. "Thanks, Burrows," he grunted, and then added with a scowl, "Enjoyed that?"

A grin broke out on Lincoln's face. "Feel a little better now."

Abruzzi snorted, but did not say anything.

Michael clapped his hands together. "Time to split, guys." He held out his hand to Abruzzi. "Good luck."

Abruzzi clasped his hands. He shifted his eyes uncomfortably. "Look, what you did down there? I won't forget it."

Michael just nodded. He was about to walk away when he was halted by a hand on his shoulders. He turned around to see Abruzzi looking at him, an unreadable expression on his face.

Then, in the most sincere tone he had ever heard the mob boss use, Abruzzi said, "If you need anything, find me."

Surprise rooted him to the spot as Abruzzi turned abruptly and headed in the opposite direction. That was definitely the last thing he had expected Abruzzi to say to him, Michael thought as he stared at the other man's retreating back.

* * *

The sky was inky black when they finally found a motel. Bikes of all shapes and sizes, with rough looking men standing around drinking beers out of cans, dotted the front of the establishment. Michael and Lincoln exchanged an uncertain glance with each other.

Then Michael remarked, "Look at it this way, it won't be any worse than Gen-Pop."

A grin grew on Lincoln's face. "Yeah. Now that's what I call reassuring," he said dryly before they made their way to the entrance.

The bikers gave them a passing glance, and then immediately went back to their drinking, obviously having decided that the two of them were too insignificant to bother with.

Michael pushed the door open. Chomping lazily on one end of a cigar, a bored looking old man at the reception nodded at them when they stepped in.

"What can I do for ya, boys?" he grated out in a rough voice.

"A room for tonight. Twin beds," Michael said.

The old man peered at them with watery eyes, and then nodded. "That'll be forty five dollars."

Michael handed him the money wordlessly.

The old man scribbled something on the book in front of him before he pushed it over to them. "Fill 'em blanks in," he instructed as he reached back to snag a key hanging from the board behind him. "Here," he said, handing the keys to them. "Ground floor, third door to your right."

A moment later, Michael and Lincoln found themselves in a small room with an en-suite shower and toilet. The furnishings had seen better days, but at least the place was reasonably clean, Michael thought as he began to remove his disguise.

"I don't think I'll be sorry to see the last of this cushion," Michael muttered as he placed the cushion on the bedside table next to his backpack.

Lincoln stripped off his disguise and tossed his top onto the back of a chair. Then he laughed. Really laughed for the first time in month. Loud guffawing, full-throated laugh. "I can't believe we pulled that off," he said amidst his laughter.

Michael grinned at his brother. "It's all in the preparation and planning. And a little faith, as someone used to tell me."

"I'm glad you remembered that." Lincoln sighed as he flopped onto the bed. "I'll never take beds for granted again."

"Quite a change from what we're used to, huh?" Michael remarked with a small smile.

Lincoln's eyes fluttered shut. "Yeah," he mumbled before promptly falling asleep.

Michael switched off the lights and laid down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He was glad that things had gone smoothly that day. Now that they had the money, it was going to be much easier for them to buy their way around.

His last thought before he fell asleep was that he had to find a way to get to Sara.

* * *

The excitement of the day before had taken its toll on their tired body and minds. Michael and Lincoln only woke up when the sun was already high in the sky. They wasted no time in reapplying their disguises and then promptly left the motel.

Michael soon found that if one had an abundance of money, things seemed to move a lot quicker and with fewer questions. Purchasing a bike took them almost no time at all when the salesman realised that they were paying for a brand new bike in cash. The salesman's eyes practically popped out of his sockets when Michael handed him the stack of money and in his excitement, had barely looked at the forms they had filled in.

Lincoln took the keys from the beaming salesman, who then led them to the sleek black Honda.

Thanking the salesman, they mounted the bike and roared off onto the road, heading for the highway.

As they sped eastwards past the barren landscape, Michael lost himself in his thoughts.

He hoped that Veronica really had something that would help in Lincoln's exoneration. They could not keep running. The only other thing they could do was to put his other plan in action and head for Mexico. They should be safe there if they continued to lay low.

He knew that Lincoln would not like the idea of leaving Veronica and LJ and he had prepared himself for the inevitable quarrel that would no doubt ensue if he broached the subject with Lincoln. Disappearing in Mexico was a good idea on many counts.

The problem was, Michael was not sure he wanted to do that anymore. Sara was now in trouble because of something he had asked her to do. And he needed to make sure that she was alright before he disappeared somewhere. The specifics of how he was supposed to achieve that, however, were unclear to him. Being on the run himself, he had no idea what he could do to help Sara. But he had to try. He had to think of something.

In the distance, Michael spotted a phone box by the side of the road. It reminded him of another thing he needed to do.

"Pull over. I need to make a call."

Lincoln frowned as he slowed down. "This is not a good time, Mike. Unless it's something which can't wait."

"It's a short call."

"To who?" Lincoln asked as he stopped by the phone box.

Michael did not answer. Instead he jumped off and headed straight for the phone box. Picking up the receiver, he inserted a couple of coins and dialled a number from memory.

When the call was picked up, a voice greeted, "Hello?"

"It's me."

He heard a sharp intake of breath before Nika's hesitant words came to him. "Are you alright? The news…"

He interrupted, "I know. Listen, I have to make this short. Remember what we discussed about the papers?"

"Yes. Is it time?" Nika asked uncertainly.

Michael nodded even though she could not see him. "You need to do it now."

A short pause followed. "Okay." Then he heard a sigh. "I hope you know what you're doing out there, Mike."

Michael smiled at the concern in her voice. "Don't worry about me. You just take care of yourself, alright?"

"Thank you for everything. And I wish you good luck."

"Bye, Nika," he said, his voice containing a tone of finality.

"Bye."

Michael hung up and looked at Lincoln. He sensed that his brother had questions to ask, but for some reason, Lincoln was not voicing his queries.

So he volunteered the information. "Nika and I signed our divorce papers before I held up the bank. I just asked her to hand it in to our lawyers."

Lincoln's face cleared in understanding. "She okay with it?"

"She knew that the marriage wasn't real. And now that she can stand on her own two feet, I think she'll be fine. It makes it easier for her to meet someone for real as well," Michael explained as he got back on the bike.

Lincoln exhaled a heavy breath. "Look, Mike. I don't even know how to begin to thank you for everything you've done. You-"

Michael interjected quickly. "It was my fault in the first place. If you hadn't borrowed all that money for me, you wouldn't be anywhere near Fox Rivers."

"I wanted you to have a better life."

His expression pained, Michael shook his head. "Not at the expense of your own, Linc. Don't get me wrong. I'm really grateful for all you did. I have… _had _a good life. But now, the important thing is to get to the bottom of things and to clear your name. We need to find Veronica."

"We will. When we need to get to the cabin," Lincoln said resolutely.

With a short nod, Michael said, "Let's go."

The ride to Mill Creek West Virginia was a long one. They had been on the road for the last four hours, stopping frequently for refuel breaks and to stock up on supplies. With their disguises and the helmets obscuring their faces, no one paid them any particular attention. When they swapped places on the bike for the third time, Michael estimated that it would take them another four hours before they reached their destination.

The long journey continued. The sun had already set in the sky when they finally sped past a sign on one side of the road which displayed Mill Creek.

Lincoln, who was at front this time, turned back over his shoulders briefly. "We're almost there."

"When is Veronica meeting us?" Michael yelled over the wind.

"I don't know. We'll have to see."

Lincoln killed the engine about a mile before they reached the cabin, explaining to Michael that it would be safer just in case something went wrong on Veronica's end. As they began to move, the dried twigs and leaves crunched under their feet and the bike tyres, alarmingly loud in the relative silence of the night.

Michael cautiously scanned their surroundings as they walked, his posture tense as his eyes darted around in the darkness. Although his eyes had begun to acclimatise, it was still hard to make out what was in the shadows. Not being able to see clearly was definitely a disadvantage that he did not care to have at that moment in time. But he realised that the darkness also served as a cover for them.

Ahead, a small, single storey log cabin slowly came into view. Michael could make out a red door and windows with wooden shutters on either side of it. A small path overgrown with weeds led to the door.

Lincoln stopped in his tracks. "Looks empty."

Michael looked at his brother out of the corner of his eyes. "Veronica's not here," he remarked unnecessarily.

Lincoln glanced around. "We should go in."

Michael nodded, but he could not help feeling apprehensive. He knew what the problem was. Previously, he had been the one doing the planning, and hence could make sure that everything tied in and ran as smoothly as it could. This time, not having the luxury to plan ahead meant that the uncertainly factor was higher, and it was making him nervous.

But it was necessary for them to be here if they wanted to see Veronica. He would just have to deal with the surprises when they occurred, not unlike what he had been forced to do in Fox Rivers.

Steeling himself, Michael followed his brother to the door, pushing the bike along beside him. Lincoln then moved to his right, off the path and started fingering the bottom of the wall. A moment later, he straightened with a key in his hand and opened the door.

The interior was dark, with a faint musty smell that came with any unoccupied building. As Michael stood in the doorway with their bike, Lincoln felt his way towards the fireplace to start a fire.

A short while later, the logs began to burn, bathing the room in flickering rays of light. Michael pushed the bike in and closed the door behind him. After parking the bike in the kitchen, he walked back, latching the door securely before he stepped up to a couch in front of the fireplace.

A cloud of dust puffed up when he sank into the couch, making him cough.

"How long has this place been empty?" he asked, clearing his throat.

Lincoln shrugged as he walked to the couch. "I don't know. It belongs to one of Veronica's high school friends." He sat down beside Michael. "I hope Veronica gets here alright."

Michael leaned back against the couch. "We just need to wait."

* * *

They had waited four days but there was still no sign of Veronica. And there had been nothing on the radio to suggest that anything had happened to her. However, that did not mean much.

Michael had toyed with the idea of calling her, but then promptly dismissed it. Calling her from their meeting point carried too much risk. Whoever that was listening to them might be able to trace the call to their location, and that was the last thing Michael wanted.

It was night again when a rustling sound outside the front door caught their attention. Michael and Lincoln immediately tensed, exchanging a glance full of mixed feelings between them. There was no way of telling if the person out where was Veronica or someone else. They had to assume the worst.

Michael nudged towards the back door and gestured for Lincoln to follow him. Carefully, they hunched down and crept their way to the kitchen.

Just as they reached the back door, Michael heard a series of soft taps on the door. Followed by a soft, "Hello?"

He closed his eyes and let out the breath he was holding. Beside him, Lincoln's expression mirrored his.

Straightening, Lincoln rushed to the door and yanked it open. A bright grin broke out on his face as he reached out to hug Veronica.

Michael stood a short distance apart from them, a smile playing at the corner of his lips as he allowed them some privacy for their reunion. Lincoln and Veronica deserved to be happy together. But Michael also knew that for that to happen, they needed to clear Lincoln's name.

When Lincoln and Veronica broke apart reluctantly, Michael stepped forward, preparing to greet her.

But before he reached Veronica, he suddenly halted in his track. His jaw went slack and his eyes widened in astonishment as someone stepped out of the shadows. The air became charged with his emotions.

"Sara," he breathed out disbelievingly.

* * *

**t.b.c.**

A/N: That's it for now. Hehe! As you can probably guess, there will be some MiSa moments in the next chapter. I had a bit of a dilemma on whether or not I should kill Abruzzi, but in the end, decided against it. It didn't seem right for some reason. Please review and let me know what you think.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Prison Break is created and written by Paul Scheuring. This fan-fiction had been written purely for entertainment purposes. No infringement was intended and no profit had been made out of this.

A/N: Thank you for reading and reviewing! Get comfortable… An extremely long chapter's coming up, so I hope that you won't be bored!

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**Unexpected Repercussions – Chapter 10**

(by elle6778)

"Sara," he breathed out disbelievingly.

A wavering smile graced her lips as she locked eyes with him. Questions whirred in his mind, fast and demanding. _How? Why was she there? Was she alright? How did she get out? Did Veronica get her out? How did she do it? _

"Michael," she greeted, her eyes flickering uncertainly.

He ran his eyes over her. She looked much healthier than when he had last seen her in the hospital, much to his relief. Dressed in a black jumper and blue jeans, she looked as healthy as anyone could be if one did not see the shadows under her eyes and the tired expression in them. That was the only thing that gave her away. Her eyes.

He took one step towards her, and then stopped, suddenly unsure how to proceed with this latest development. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he asked quietly, almost shyly, "Are you alright?"

She shrugged wordlessly. Then she stepped in and closed the door behind her, leaning against it.

Michael flicked a confused glance at Veronica. "You got her out?"

Sara interjected, "I know you have questions."

That was definitely an understatement, Michael thought wryly. "Your arrest. Was that because they suspected you of being an accomplice?"

Sara nodded. "Yeah. I wondered how they figured out that it was me who left the door unlocked. I guess when pushed, even your friends would turn on you," she scoffed cynically.

"Who?" Lincoln asked with a frown.

"My guess would be Katie." At Lincoln's and Michael's blank look, she clarified, "The nurse. Not that I really blame her. She probably did not have much of a choice in the matter."

"I'm sorry, Sara."

The corner of her mouth lifted. "Spent a couple of days being interrogated before my kind father decided that having a daughter in prison would not reflect well on him. So here I am."

Lincoln asked, "Your father pulled strings and got you out?"

"He pulled some strings and cut some strings while he was at it," she clarified, stepping away from the door.

_Cut some strings? _Michael frowned. "What do you mean?"

Veronica replied instead of Sara. "_Vice-President _Tancredi made her change her name," she supplied, looking disgusted.

"What?" Michael exclaimed, shocked that her father was so cruel.

Sara sighed as she sank down onto the dusty couch. "Yeah, it's good to know that I'm loved."

Michael grimaced. If he had not involved her, this would not have happened. Sara would not have been effectively disowned by her father. The repercussions of his plans were careening out of his control and Michael hated to think what might happen next. All he knew was that it was all his fault.

Overcame with guilt, he said softly, "I'm so sorry, Sara. I got you into this."

Out of the corner of his eyes, Michael saw Veronica flash a meaningful look at Lincoln. Silently, the two of them moved to the kitchen, leaving him and Sara alone in the living room.

Sara looked up at him and shook her head. "Don't be sorry. I had time to think about it. I made the decision myself. Wanted to make a difference, remember?" she remarked with a forced laugh.

Michael's jaw tightened. "That decision landed you in an interrogation room."

She sighed wearily. "Michael, I can think for myself. I know what could happen when I left the door unlocked. There were risks, and I took it."

"You were angry when I saw you in the hospital," he pointed out, remembering the pain in her eyes when she had refused to believe that he really cared for her, and that it had not been all about the plan. It pained him that she would never believe it. But then, why was she here?

Sara shook her head, a sad smile gracing her lips. "Not really at you. I had time to think things through. I was angry at my father and at myself. At my father for being such a prick and at myself for being stupid enough to believe in things I shouldn't have believed in."

She suddenly laughed, a self-mocking sound that made his heart clench painfully. The recent events had scarred her, he could tell. The Sara he knew before had been cynical, but this woman in front of her even more.

She sobered up briefly, and then continued quietly. "But I guess that's not the first time I got fooled like that."

Running a hand over his head, Michael sighed regretfully before he sat down beside her. "Sara, I meant what I said before. It started off like as one thing, your part in the bigger picture of the escape plan. But once I got to know you, it became harder for me to carry on with the plan where you were concerned."

"But you had to."

He held himself stiffly, as if he was afraid that he might break if he did not. "It pains me to know that you'll always have this distrust of my motives. I don't blame you. But do you think I went through with all the deception not knowing that I'd hurt you in the end? I knew what I was doing and I felt guilty. It was eating me up slowly, one day after another. I didn't want to hurt you. You have no idea how much I wished that I hadn't asked you to help when I saw you in the hospital." He inhaled, and then exhaled slowly, anguished. "This is all for Linc, Sara. It's not about me."

She looked pained. "Michael," she started. "I-"

Interrupting her, he pressed on. "I looked forward to our visits, as short as they had been. There was something there, Sara." He gestured in the space between then two of them. "There's something right here between the two of us. You mean to tell me you don't feel it?"

He grabbed her hand, and then pulled her closer. To his relief, she did not resist. Their faces were only inches away from each other when he stressed earnestly, "I feel it, Sara." He brought their linked hands to his heart. "In here."

She inhaled sharply at his words, and then slowly blinked. Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but nothing came out apart from a soft puff of warm breath.

Michael found himself drawn to those lips. Both of them were so close that their breath mingled. Swallowing hard, he raised his eyes to meet hers. Their eyes locked, and Michael found himself unable to pull away.

And neither could she, from the look in her eyes.

The drumming of his heart was loud in his ears as he closed the small gap between them. All his senses seemed to be focussed completely on the woman in front of him. He hesitated for a second when he was just a hair's breadth away from her lips, watching, mesmerised, as her eyes fluttered shut.

The first brush of his lips against hers was tentative, like he was just remembering how she felt against him. A heady feeling rushed over him as he ran his lips over hers. He could feel her trembling slightly and suddenly wondered if he was rushing her. He had not meant to do so.

When he reluctantly pulled back a little, he could hear the unsteadiness of her breath, telling him that she was just as affected as he was. He raised a hand to brush a strand of her hair away from her face, his eyes searching hers questioningly, needing her assent for him to continue.

"Michael…" she whispered softly, her face flushed.

He decided that he could not wait, and then lowered his head to capture her lips in his again. She was soft and pliant beneath him, and a surge of possessiveness coursed through him. Wrapping his arms around her, one hand on the small of her back and the other at the nape of her neck, he pulled her closer as he deepened the kiss. Her response was passionate, clouding his mind, making it hard for him to maintain control.

A soft moan escaped her lips when he lifted his head. Her eyes were glazed with the remnants of their passion when he gazed into them, making him hungry for more. But he refrained from continuing. It was too soon, and the last thing he wanted to do was to scare her off.

"Sara," he whispered, still holding her face in his hands. "I-"

She interjected breathlessly, "No. Don't say anything anymore."

His heart twisted in pain. Was this the point where she told him that she did not feel the same? Had he messed things up by kissing her? Sighing heavily, he let his hands fall from her face and steeled himself for her rejection.

She cleared her throat, obviously uncomfortable. "I…um…I need to clear something up."

Michael averted his gaze, not wanting her to see the feelings that were bound to be displayed in his eyes. "Go on," he prompted calmly, masking his anguish.

Inhaling loudly, she started. "It hurt when I realised that you sent Nika to get my key. I thought you were just using me. Just playing with me feelings." Her lips twisted. "But what hurt the most was how I felt for you and the fact that I could do nothing about it. I'm angry at myself for falling for the wrong guy. Not at you, but at myself."

A glimmer of hope began in his chest. Perhaps there was a chance for them after all. "Sara…"

"Let me finish." Then she looked directly into his eyes. "Before I unlocked to door, I thought a lot about it. Like what will happen if you all really managed to escape. Part of me was wondering how am I supposed to wait for you when you're on the run for who knows how long. It was awful to know that once I unlocked the door, I might never see you again. But the alternative of leaving the door locked, knowing that you won't be able to get Linc out, was worse."

Her words had lifted the heaviness in his heart, given him hope that there was chance for them. But he did not want her to think that he would hold anything like that against her even if she had not left the door unlocked. "I wouldn't have blamed you, Sara," he said sincerely, hoping that she would believe it.

A self-mocking smile twisted her lips. "In a way, I felt like I failed Linc, when I remembered what my father _didn't _do to help. For what it's worth, I do think that Lincoln's innocent too. And although my father refused to do anything about it, that doesn't mean that I should just sit back and do nothing. Especially now that he had cut me off." She took a deep breath. "So, the second I was released, I called Veronica."

So it was Sara who had approached Veronica. Not the other way round. "And you managed to get her to bring you here?" he asked, incredulous. How did Veronica know who to trust?

"It was her idea, actually. Linc told her that…" she paused, and then said evasively, "Nevermind."

"What?"

"It's nothing," she said insistently.

"Tell me," he pressed.

She sighed in resignation. "Linc told Veronica that you'd be worried when you hear about my arrest. And that you'll probably find some way to break me out of prison."

His brother knew him too well. Shrugging, he said with a small smile, "I might have."

She laughed. "Your recent track record doesn't look too bad, either," she joked.

Michael grinned.

And then they fell silent.

There were so many things he wanted to share with her. So much that he did not know where to begin.

"You look well," she said softly, breaking the silence.

Michael smirked. "Being on the run suits me."

Sara rolled her eyes. "That's not funny, Michael." Her eyes swept over his beige shirt and the black jeans. "For someone who had just recently busted out of prison, you're surprisingly well dressed," she remarked dryly.

Michael told her about Westmoreland's money.

"I guess you won't be having money problems for a while then."

He grinned. Then, remembering what Veronica had said about Sara's father, he asked, "So, do I still call you Sara? Or are you doing by another name now?"

She shook her head. "I just changed my last name. _Sara_'s common enough to keep Vice-President Tancredi's reputation safe."

"I still can't believe you father made you do that," he muttered, his distaste unmasked.

Sara smirked. "He has his own funny way of showing how much he loves me."

"So what is it now?"

A mischievous twinkle lighted her eyes before she said with a straight face, "Michaels."

Michael raised his eyebrows. "My name?" Suddenly he was at a loss for words. What did she mean by taking his name? He opened his mouth to say something, and then not knowing what to say, he clamped it shut again.

Sara laughed at his expression. "Figured that it would rile my father to no end."

Vice-President Tancredi would no doubt be put off by her choice of name, Michael thought, his lips twitching in mirth. "Oh, I thought you were trying to tell me something," he teased.

Raising her eyebrow, she asked, "Oh? And what might that be?"

He shrugged carelessly. "You tell me."

She looked away evasively. "You're reading too much into it, Michael."

"Am I?" Studying her intently, he continued, "I meant what I said, Sara."

"Michael…"

"We're not in Fox Rivers anymore."

She laughed mirthlessly. "No. Now you're a wanted man."

Impulsiveness was not something Michael usually indulged in, but this time, it felt right. Sara had not been part of the post-escape plan, but he realised now that she needed to be. Especially now that he knew that she felt something for him.

"So come with me," he urged softly.

She looked down at her hands. "I can't, Michael. I can't," she whispered.

Confused, he asked, "Why?"

To his surprise, her eyes flashed fiercely when she pinned her gaze on him. "You know why, Michael. You have a wife. Nika, remember? I won't be the _other_ woman," she declared harshly.

"I'm not asking you to be."

She let out an exasperated sigh as she threw her arms up. "Then what, Michael? I run with you to who knows where while your wife sits home and worry about you?"

He grabbed her hands to still them. "I told you it's not like that, Sara. Nika and I, it's an arrangement of convenience only. Not to mention that at this minute, we're probably divorced already."

Sara looked sceptical. "I can't believe you found time to meet up with your lawyers and to sign the papers in the last ten days."

He shook his head. "No. We signed it months ago. I just told Nika to get it to our lawyers for processing a few days ago."

"You planned on separating all along?" she asked softly.

Michael nodded.

Sara fell silent.

Exhaling loudly, he leaned back against the back of the couch. Slanting a glance at her out of the corner of his eyes, he asked, "So, does that mean that you accept my offer?"

She studied him for a moment before she replied softly. "It's not much of an offer, Michael."

He raised his brows in mock surprise. "What? An exciting time on the run with a hunted convict? What more could you ask for?"

Her lips twitched. "Some stability might be nice."

He shifted closer to her, and her subtle fragrance assaulted his senses. The urge to kiss her again came back, but he stifled it. This was not the right time.

Crouching down in front of her, he said regretfully. "Sara. I would love to give you everything, but right now I don't own much, except close to a million in cash. Even if Linc gets exonerated, I will still go back to prison if I get arrested because I really did hold up a bank. So, the only thing I can think of is Mexico."

Her eyes widened at the implication.

He inhaled deeply, disliking what he was asking of her but unable to stop now that he had started. "We can lose ourselves in the crowd there and start over again. But you need to leave everything behind. Your friends, your job and your father. Everything. I know I don't have the right to ask, especially after what I've made you go through. But-"

"Stop, Michael," she said, pressing a finger to his lips. "Please stop," she whispered painfully.

Deciding to let it go for now, Michael withdrew quietly. "Okay. I'm not going to press you, but just think about it, okay?"

She gazed down at him, the turmoil in her eyes clear for all to see. Then, after a long silence, she said with a nod, "I'll think about it."

Knowing that it was the best he could expect out of her for now, Michael returned her nod. She had been through a lot in recent days. And Michael knew that what he was asking of her was not something trivial. She needed time to think things through. Hopefully, they would be able to exonerate Lincoln, and then, he would broach the subject again.

He got to his feet and went to the kitchen, leaving Sara alone in the living room with her thoughts. Just as he reached the door, Lincoln and Veronica stepped up to him.

"Everything alright?" Lincoln asked.

Michael nodded. Lincoln sound a little concerned, but Michael could also detect an underlying hint of excitement in his voice. Veronica must have told him what she had found.

Turning to her, he asked, "So, how are things going? Linc said you found something."

She brightened. "Yes! Terrence Steadman is alive and I've got something to prove it," Veronica said triumphantly.

Michael felt a smile growing on his face. "So, what do you have?" he asked as they moved to the living room to join Sara.

"She got the security tape from Montana," Lincoln supplied with a grin.

"What? What's in Montana?" Sara asked curiously.

Veronica clapped her hands together. "Terrence Steadman was in Blackfoot, Montana, all this time. We found the lead just before Nick started behaving strange. I saw Steadman with my own two eyes. He's very much alive. Minus his teeth, which now explains the body we dug up."

"You went in alone?" Michael asked, incredulous.

She nodded. "There was a gun in the bag of files Nick gave me. I guess he wanted me to be able to protect myself." Then she frowned worriedly. "I've been trying to call him but he's not answering. I just hope that he's alright."

Michael's brow furrowed. Perhaps Abruzzi had done something to him. Giving Veronica a questioning look, he asked, "When was the last time you spoke to him?"

She thought silently for a moment before she replied, "Around the time you guys broke out. Been trying to call him since then."

"Can't be Abruzzi, then," Michael muttered under his breath. But what else could it be? Who else would be after Nick? Could it be the same people who was after their father and Lincoln?

Sara's question broke Michael's train of thought. "How did you get the tape?"

Veronica grimaced. "Pointed a gun at him and tied him to a chair while I searched the house. Found the surveillance equipment in a small room off his study. The thing is, there's only one tape. The security cams had been set to record over the previous day's data."

"Is that actually enough to prove that Steadman's alive?" Lincoln asked.

Nodding, Veronica said, "I watched the tape. It contains the recording of that day from the early hours of the morning till the time I took it. We have footage of him watching news and reading papers, and we can make out the date. If that's not enough, we have the picture I sent to LJ."

"Did you get anything else?" Lincoln asked.

Veronica shook her head. "Not much. I grabbed some paperwork from his desk. Those turned out to be bills, but I didn't have the time or resources to run through the phone numbers. We should go through it soon, though."

Deep in thought, Michael paced the length of the room, his linked hands pressed to his lips. Pausing mid-stride, he said, "We need a plan. Now that we know that Steadman's alive, all we need to do is to convince the authorities."

"Not easy when you're an escaped convict," Lincoln pointed out. "I doubt they'll listen to us."

"We can get it to the press. Let them broadcast it," Sara suggested.

"They'll want to know where he is. And from the sounds of it, he's probably halfway across the world by now," Michael guessed, thumping the wall in frustration.

"We need to find him," Lincoln said with a frown.

"I left him tied up, but someone would have found him by now, I think. So now they realise that we know he's alive."

"We need to find out-" A faint rumbling sound suddenly caught Michael's attention, halting him mid-sentence. His senses went on the alert. Instantly, he held up his hands, signalling to the other three to stop talking. As they quietened down, Michael made out the sound of the engine of a car, which was seemingly coming closer. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Michael snapped his head towards Veronica. "Were you followed?"

She looked alarmed, her eyes wide in her face. "No," she exclaimed, and then shook her head, obviously flustered. "I don't know!"

A feeling of trepidation grew in the pit of his stomach. It sounded like someone had been trailing Veronica or Sara, and had now found all of them. Exchanging an anxious glance with Lincoln, Michael remarked gravely, "This is not good."

Lincoln nodded, his expression grim.

"Maybe they're just passer-bys," Sara suggested nervously.

"We can't take the chance," Michael stressed.

"Let's just see if it comes closer," Lincoln said, gesturing for Michael to follow him to the front of the cabin.

Just as they were about to reach the window, a flash of light from the distance swung towards them.

Michael and Lincoln immediately flattened themselves on either side of the door, their breaths suspended in their chests. Sara and Veronica dropped to the floor, gasping in surprise. Michael darted a glance at the back door, wondering if they would be able to make it there without being detected.

"The kitchen," Michael ordered urgently to Veronica and Sara. "Now!"

The two women stared at him for a second, their anxiety clear in their widened eyes. And then without a single word, they got up and dashed to the kitchen.

When Sara and Veronica had left the room, Michael peered out of the side of the window. It was now completely dark. Whoever that was out there had switched the headlights off, fuelling Michael's suspicions. "They're out in the front," Michael said grimly as his looked at his brother, then at the kitchen.

His eyes landed on their bike. "Linc, we need to get Veronica and Sara out first."

Lincoln followed his glance. "We can't all fit on the bike, Mike," he pointed out worriedly.

"I know. But three can fit. You go with them."

Lincoln's eyes flashed. "No," he refused vehemently.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Michael let out a frustrated exclamation. "We don't have time for this, Linc," he snapped impatiently.

Unperturbed by Michael's tone, Lincoln retorted, "You take Veronica and Sara with you and go on the bike."

"You're the one on death row, Linc. You can't afford to be caught." Michael inhaled loudly, then in a harder voice, he said, "Linc, please. We don't have time to argue about this."

"I'm not going to leave you behind, Mike," his brother declared heatedly.

"You're not leaving me behind," Michael said in exasperation as he pulled Lincoln along with him to the kitchen. "Come on," he urged, grabbing their two backpacks on the way.

"What's going on?" Veronica asked, her eyes wide in apprehension as her glance landed on them one after another.

"We need to leave," Michael said as he wheeled the bike to the back door. "Linc! Get on."

"I said I'm not leaving you behind. Veronica and Sara can take the bike and go."

"No!" Veronica and Sara exclaimed in unison.

Ignoring them, Michael stressed, "It's too risky with just the two of them. They'll be charged with withholding information if they get caught."

Lincoln looked torn between staying and leaving.

Michael understood his dilemma. Lincoln could either go with Veronica and Sara, hence saving three of them. Or Lincoln could stay with him and make a run of it, leaving Veronica and Sara to fend for themselves. It was a hard decision for Lincoln to make, but Michael had no intention of letting him choose.

"You know you can't leave the Veronica and Sara by themselves, Linc. Go with them. They need you more than I do, and I have your number. I'll call," he said calmly, shoving the two backpacks containing their money into his brother's hands.

"No, Michael!" Sara protested, her stricken eyes landing on Lincoln for support.

But Lincoln nodded slowly. Taking a step to close the gap between them, he gave Michael a fierce hug. "Be careful." Then he released him and took the bike from him.

"Michael, we're not going without you," Sara exclaimed stubbornly, clamping her hands around his arm.

"The more time we spend arguing about this, the higher chance it would be for us to get caught," he said, looking into her eyes. Then, lowering his head, he brushed a kiss on her forehead. "Go. I'll find you all as soon as I can."

"But-"

"GO!" Michael yelled urgently, detaching her hand from his arm. They were coming closer. He could sense it.

"Michael," Sara called with, her eyes large in panic as Veronica pulled her towards the bike.

"I'll catch up," he quickly said. "Get them out of here, Linc!"

Michael could see the reluctance in Lincoln's expression. "You've got to go," he insisted again.

Lincoln's jaw tightened. And then he spun around and straddled the bike. "Get on," he ordered to Veronica and Sara as he gunned the engine.

"We can't just leave," Sara protested angrily as Veronica climbed on behind Lincoln. She gave Michael as pleading look. "Not without you."

"You'll have to. I can take care of myself, Sara. Go with Veronica and Linc. I'll be right behind you," he said. He cupped her face in his hands and planted a quick, desperate kiss on her lips before he helped her onto the bike behind Veronica.

Smacking his brother on the back, Michael ordered, "Go!"

As the bike roared off, he dashed out of the door into the forest surrounding the cabin.

His heart pounded wildly, his breath exploding from his lungs at a frantic rate as his feet skimmed the forest floor. Twigs snapped under his feet and tree branches whipped past, grazing his face, but Michael hardly felt any of it. His main focus was to run as far as he could, as fast as he could, away from the cabin.

The sound of a single shot startled him, making him stumbled. As he righted himself, he tossed a quick glance over his shoulders, but could not make out anything in the dark. That worried him. How was he supposed to know where to run when he had no idea where his enemies were?

Another shot cracked through the air, spurring Michael on. He forced himself to remain calm, but his heart continued to hammer rapidly and the adrenaline continued to course wildly through him. His feet pounded the ground as he raced in a random direction. He did not know where he was going but he just had to run.

Then Michael thought that he heard a voice. A male voice.

They were coming closer. He must have been running in circles, or else he would have been much further ahead considering the head start he had on them. Grimacing, he slowed down, searching for somewhere to hide until his eyes caught sight of a tree with very dense foliage around it.

He needed to get to the tree. He might have a chance if he could hide up there until his pursuers left.

A shuffling sound from behind startled him, and he tensed reflexively.

Suddenly searing pain exploded at the back of his head.

And then everything went black.

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**t.b.c.**

A/N: As always, I have to stop at this sort of place in the story. It'll be continued next week. I hope you've enjoyed that. Please review and let me know what you think of this chapter.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: Prison Break is created and written by Paul Scheuring. This fan-fiction had been written purely for entertainment purposes. No infringement was intended and no profit had been made out of this.

A/N: I've agonized for what seemed like weeks over this chapter, but I'm glad it's finally done. For those of you who didn't know about this, I had set out to finish this story before the premiere of Season 2, and that's today, 21st August 2006. But in order to do that, I had to effectively stuff two chapters into one. So yes, this is the final chapter and it's twice as long as my usual chapters.

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**Unexpected Repercussions – Chapter 11**

(by elle6778)

The splash of frigid water on his face forced Michael to wake with a jolt. Blinking slowly to clear the water from his lashes, he looked up to find himself facing with a thin woman with dark shoulder-length hair, dressed in a black suit.

The expression on the woman's face was deceptively pleasant. Too pleasant to be genuine, Michael thought through the haze in his mind. He moved his focus from the woman to his surroundings. A large man with another one of those pleasant expressions was seated backwards in a chair not too far behind the woman, his arms leaning against the back of the chair. He was also dressed in a black suit. They were in a warehouse, Michael noted warily as he swept his eyes around the dimly lit space.

"Michael Scofield," the woman said his name out loud with a tinge of mockery in her voice.

"The man who led a team of eight inmates out of a maximum security prison," the man on the chair added, raising an eyebrow as he did so. "I have to express my admiration at your skills."

Michael remained silent as he watched them guardedly. His body ached and the back of his head felt as if it had been bludgeoned by a sledgehammer, making it hard for him to focus. But he knew he had to remain alert.

And all he wanted to know was if Lincoln, Sara and Veronica managed to get away.

Michael looked down at himself. His feet were tied together. He tried to move his arms to no avail. His wrists were tied together on the other side of what felt like a steel column.

Not wanting to give away his apprehension, he kept his face expressionless. "Who are you?"

The man gestured to the woman. "This is Samantha Brinker, and I'm Jack Davies."

Those names did not mean anything to him. And for all he knew, they might not even be real names. "What do you want?" Michael asked stonily.

"Let's just say we're looking to offer you a deal," Davies drawled slowly.

"A deal," Michael ehoed flatly, hardly believing what he was hearing. Probably his freedom in exchange for the location of the rest of the escapees. Did they think he was so gullible? "What deal?"

"Something which you will find very helpful in your current predicament."

He gave them a disinterested look. "What might that be?"

"Freedom."

Michael laughed out loud. They had really underestimated him if they thought that he would buy that. If it was that easy to buy someone's freedom, he found have done it for Lincoln months ago.

Davies frowned disapprovingly. "I fail to see the humour in the situation, Mr Scofield."

Michael shook his head, his body shaking with laughter. "What's the catch then?"

"We want Ms Donovan."

His laughter died abruptly. Veronica. They wanted Veronica. Not Lincoln, not the rest of the escapees. But Veronica. "Why?" he asked cautiously, unsure if really he wanted to know the answer.

The mask on the other man's face went up. "I'm afraid that's confidential."

"And then I'm afraid that I'm unable to accommodate," he shot back with a shrug.

The woman, Brinker, stepped towards him, her expression threatening. "You might find that it is in your best interest to cooperate with us, Mr Scofield."

Michael aimed a level look at her. His voice was cold when he said, "I've got nothing to lose."

Davies interjected smoothly. "But you have everything to gain, Mr Scofield. Freedom for your nephew and your brother. Their names cleared. No more running and hiding. We can't offer you the same, but we can offer you a new identity. All you have to do is to tell us where is Ms Donovan."

Michael fell silent, appearing to be mulling over the offer. Then, with a straight face, he said, "Tempting. But no, thanks."

Brinker's face became pinched. "You're being deliberately difficult. You stand to gain everything and lose nothing."

"Except Veronica."

"We are not looking to harm her," Davies said reassuringly.

"Then why do you need her?"

"That again, I'm afraid, is confidential."

Michael snorted in disdain. "How convenient."

Davies stood up and walked towards him. Leaning down close to Michael, the man said smoothly, "We'll give you some time to think about it. Don't take too long."

The man straightened. With a cold smile, he continued, "There's nothing stopping us from handing you over to the authorities. But we'd prefer not to go down that route. We will find Ms Donovan eventually, but with your help, it'll speed things up a little. Time, I'm afraid, is of essence at the moment."

Then they left, slamming the door behind them.

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He did not know how many hours had passed or how many days even. Being shut indoors in the dark made it difficult for him to tell. All he knew was that the throbbing at the back of his head was beginning to ease, but now the gnawing hunger in his belly was demanding attention. His arms felt lifeless after hours of being restrained and he sorely needed to stretch.

But he knew that it was impossible. This was all part of the torture they were using to weaken him into submission. They had been in and out several times since he had woken up and the conversation had been the same. They were at a standstill and the frustration was beginning to show on Brinker's thin face. Davies however, remained calm.

"I fail to understand why you're reluctant to take the offer," the man asked, appearing to be genuinely baffled.

Michael shook his head wearily. Through parched lips, he said, "You see. I don't see how you could hold up your end of the deal. Our faces are all over the media. What are you going to do? Announce to everyone that we got mistakenly thrown in?"

"Not quite. But something like that," Davies replied smoothly.

Interesting, Michael thought. "Care to elaborate?"

"We will arrange for Lincoln Burrow's and his son's freedom if Ms Donovan cooperates with us. And we can help you leave the country and assume a new identity."

Michael eyes narrowed. It all sounded too simple. "You can easily back out of your end of the deal once you get Veronica."

"You'll just have to trust us on that," Brinker said coldly.

Michael laughed mirthlessly. "I'm afraid I can't do that. I guess you'll just have to do what you like with me, but I'm not helping you get to Veronica. Not unless I have some proof that you'll keep your word. A guarantee of sorts."

"There is no such thing, Mr Scofield," Brinker snapped impatiently. "You forget that you're the prisoner here. You're in no position to make demands."

Michael gave her a bored look. "Well, isn't that just too bad?"

Davies regarded him thoughtfully for a moment before turning to the woman beside him. "Samantha, a word please."

Tossing an irritated look at Michael, Brinker spun around and followed Davies to the far end of the warehouse. From their gestures, it would seem that they were having some sort of debate.

Michael strained to hear their words without success. They kept their voices low, but the tone of urgency was unmistakeable. He had no doubt that they were discussing his refusal to give Veronica up. They were probably plotting an alternative plan now. Hopefully it did not involve his death.

After a while, Michael looked up to see Brinker walking back towards him while Davies made his way to the door.

At his enquiring glance, Brinker said tightly, "You'll have something by tomorrow."

Michael's eyebrows shot up in surprise. What did she mean? Before he could say anything, she left the warehouse, leaving him alone.

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The three of them sat silently around the small table around Sara's new apartment. Sounds of children playing and dogs barking in the small park in front of the block filtered through the open window, but they paid no attention to it, each of them lost in their own thoughts. The cell phone on the table had remained ominously silent since they had left Michael back in the cabin almost two days ago.

Sara had her head buried in her hands, her mind filled with images of Michael's expression the last she had seen of him. He had rather expose additional risk to himself than to put her or the other two in danger. That had not been a selfish act. There was no doubt in her mind now that he cared for her at least as much as she cared for him.

But where was he now? He had said that he would call. But they had heard nothing so far. No phone calls and nothing on the news. The television was on at that moment, mocking them with the lack of news on anything worthwhile.

She blinked her red-rimmed eyes to hold her tears at bay. No more, she promised herself sternly. All the crying had done her no good except to make herself feel even more miserable.

She slanted her eyes across to Lincoln and Veronica. They were not faring any better. The two of them wore identical grim expressions on their faces. It did not take a genius to figure out that they were thinking along the same lines as she was.

Her mind went back to what Michael had said to her in the short time they had been together in the cabin. Of what he had asked of her. She had been confused then. Everything was happening so fast that she had panicked when he had asked her.

It was funny. All it took was the thought of never seeing him again to help her make up her mind. Right now, she wished she could tell him yes. Yes, she would follow him. She would go on the run with him. What else did she have in her life which was worth hanging around for in this place for anyway? Her main focus for the last few months had been Michael. Granted, at that time it was more the case of trying not to fall for him. But it was a lost cause. Her feelings for him were not something she could control. She knew that now.

And she knew that they had to do something soon before she went mad with worry.

Inhaling deeply, she ventured uncertainly, "Linc, we need to find him. It's been too long."

His brow furrowed, Lincoln looked up from the table. "I know. But what? We don't know where he is."

"We shouldn't have left him there," Veronica muttered worriedly.

"Well, it's too late for that now!" Lincoln growled angrily, pushing the chair back to stand up. Pacing the room in agitation, he continued, his anguish clear, "I don't know what to do!"

"We can't just continue sitting here waiting," Sara exclaimed harshly. "We should-" she broke off suddenly, her attention drawn to the television. "Turn the volume up," she instructed urgently to Veronica.

Their eyes zoomed in on the flickering images on the screen as a reporter spoke live from outside a correctional facility.

"_Today, new ground-breaking evidence led to the release of LJ Burrows, the teenage son of one of the escaped convicts from Fox Rivers. LJ Burrows had been arrested on suspicion of double homicide and attempted murder several weeks ago. Now, the authorities are searching for a new suspect, a man whose identity has yet to be disclosed."_

Lincoln inhaled sharply. "They let him go!" he exclaimed in excitement. "LJ's free!"

Her eyes still pinned on the screen, Sara placed a hand on Lincoln's shoulder. "Shh… There's more."

"_In a related news…"_

The camera moved on to a wreckage site. A car was wrapped around a tree, crumpled badly and charred beyond recognition. Sara felt a terrible sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Please no…" she breathed out, her eyes wide with anxiety.

"_The manhunt for the eight fugitives had led to this scene. The authorities had acted on a tip from a local source which resulted in a car chase across the state. The identity of the body has yet to be verified. However, the description fits one of the escapees. We have Officer Bellick here…"_

The camera zoomed in on Officer Bellick's grim expression.

"The bastard," Lincoln hissed angrily as his fist hit the table.

"_You've said earlier that you have identified the remains of the body in the car?"_

_Bellick nodded smugly. "The tip led us to believe that the man in the car is one of the escapees."_

"_Can you tell us who you think it is?" In the background, paramedics carefully lifted a blackened body out of the wreckage onto a stretcher. _

"_We cannot confirm anything until identification tests are completed, but it is likely that the man in there was Michael Scofield. He fits the description."_

"No!" Sara exclaimed, shaking her head disbelievingly. She slumped back against the chair, numb with shock. No, not Michael. How could he be so careless? They should not have left him there.

Yanking his gaze from the screen, Lincoln muttered, "No. This is not right. They must have mistaken the guy for Michael."

"But where's Michael then?" Veronica asked softly, dejectedly. Her eyes were over-bright with unshed tears.

Lincoln's eyes flashed. "Maybe he's just in hiding. He'll find us."

"Michael…" Sara whispered, her eyes glazed with pain. It was too late for anything now. Too late for regrets, too late to save him. Too late. But why? Why must this happen to him? But maybe it was as Lincoln said. Maybe it was not him after all. Maybe it was someone else.

Maybe.

"I need to see the body," she suddenly declared.

Veronica gaped. "What!"

"To be sure," Sara mumbled, getting to her feet.

A hand on her arms stopped her. "No." It was Lincoln, his expression displaying his uncertainty.

Sara shook his hand off. "I need to know, Linc."

"The whole thing might be a trap," Veronica pointed out worriedly.

Sara sank back into the chair. Pressing the heel of her hands against her eyes, she whispered, "What are we going to do now?"

Lincoln shook his head slowly. "I don't know," he replied dejectedly. "I don't know."

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Michael's eyes widened as he took in the news report. When it ended, his gaze remained fixed to the television which Brinker had brought in earlier just for this purpose. His mind whirred with the implication of what he had seen. He did not think it was possible, but they had managed to carry out at least part of what they had told him earlier.

LJ's free and he, Michael Scofield, was presumed dead.

How did they do it? Whoever they were, they had some power of the authorities. It had only been two days since he had been captured. Two days was a short time to carry out what they had just shown him.

How would Lincoln, Sara and Veronica feel when they saw it? Had they seen it already? Michael closed his eyes briefly and leaned back against the column. They must be really worried by now. Michael hoped that they would not do anything rash. He needed to speak to them, to reassure them that he was still alive, and not lying in some morgue, charred and burnt beyond recognition.

The stony-faced woman stepped between him and the television, forcing him to look at her. "Take this as a gesture of goodwill. Something to convince you that we are able to deliver on our promises."

Michael just looked at her wordlessly, unsure what he should do now. If these people could help free Lincoln, then it was possibly worth a try. But what about Veronica? He could not give up Veronica to them just like that. Who knew what they wanted to do to her?

"I need to know what you want with Veronica," he said quietly, but there was no mistaking the insistence in his voice.

Brinker's lips thinned. "We will not harm her."

"Then you shouldn't have a problem telling me what you need from her," Michael retorted immediately.

Davies walked towards them. Bending down towards Michael, he asked, "Will you give us what we want once we tell you what we need her for?"

"Depends," Michael replied coldly.

Davies straightened and exchanged a look with Brinker. Then he turned back to Michael. "We need Ms Donovan to hand us the surveillance tape she had found in Steadman's hideout."

Michael sucked in a sharp breath.

They knew. They knew that Terrence Steadman was alive. "Who are you? And how do you know he's alive?"

"Our identity is not important," Davies replied in an offhand manner.

"What are you planning to do with the tape?"

Brinker arched an eyebrow. "To prove that Steadman is alive, of course. The tape, together with other information we have, is enough to prove your brother's innocence."

Michael was sceptical. "I'm afraid I don't believe that all this is just to prove Lincoln's innocence. What do you get out of it?"

"Now _that_ you don't need to know. Suffice to say that all we're trying to do is to bring someone to justice. The same person who set your brother up in the first place."

Michael snorted disbelievingly. "By freeing Lincoln."

"In a way, yes," Brinker said enigmatically.

Michael mind went back to the investigations he had carried out before he went into Fox Rivers and what Veronica had told them of her investigations. These people seemed to know a lot. They even knew that Lincoln had been set up. Their identity was becoming clearer to him now.

He gave her a knowing look. "You're part of that conspiracy, aren't you? You're from the Company."

"There's no conspiracy," Brinker denied, but Michael had seen the uncertain flicker in her eyes just before she masked it. "Just a mistake," she added.

Michael snorted derisively. "A mistake which was about to cost Lincoln his life."

Brinker was unperturbed. "No murder. No charges. No death-sentence. It is as simple as that. All we need is to prove that Steadman is well and alive. We need to find him, but we need Ms Donovan's help for that. We know that she had seen him. Her prints were all over the place and on the surveillance equipment."

"Why can't you just find Steadman?"

Davies replied, "He had left, or someone else got to him first before we could. We just need Ms Donovan to help track him down since she was one of the last to see him."

"And then?"

"Then nothing. We need the tape as evidence and we need to ask her a few questions, that'll all. After that, provided everyone keeps quiet about this, then everything will be fine. We will leave you alone. We're not after you or your brother. We have a bigger fish to fry," Brinker explained.

Davies piped in. "All we need from you is Ms Donovan, and then Lincoln Burrows will be a free man. And you will find that the corpse in the morgue will be positively identified as Michael Scofield. You will also get a new identity and your choice of country to reside in. Think about it, Mr Scofield. The offer doesn't get any better than this."

Michael fell silent. What they were proposing appeared to be feasible. However, he was not sure how far he could trust them. Their 'gesture of goodwill' of securing LJ's release and the faking of his death went a long way in convincing him that they had more than enough resources to ensure that they delivered on their promise. And Michael knew that with their resources, Lincoln had a better chance at freedom.

Now the question was, did he trust them enough to hand them one of the main evidence of Lincoln's innocence? Or to expose Veronica to more danger?

Was he prepared to live with himself if it all went wrong?

Was he prepared to live with himself if he passed up on this opportunity to secure Lincoln's freedom?

The repercussions of his past decisions came back to haunt him.

How far was he prepared to go this time?

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The phone rang shrilly, breaking the silence in the apartment.

They froze, all staring transfixed at the ringing object on the table, suddenly unable to move. The first one to snap out of it was Lincoln. In a fraction of a second, he had the phone in his hand. His breath caught in his throat as he pressed a button on the phone. Could it be Michael?

"Yeah," he greeted guardedly.

"Linc?"

Lincoln's eyes shut in relief as he released the breath he was holding. It was him. Michael was alive. "Mike? You alright?"

Sara rushed forwards to Lincoln's side, her wide eyes questioning. "Is he alright?"

Lincoln pressed a button on the cell phone to switch the call to the speakers. Michael's voice came over the loudspeaker. "I'm okay, Linc. Tell Sara not to worry."

Sara gasped at the sound of his voice. "Michael! What happened?" Sara asked anxiously. "We thought you were…The car crash…"

Michael interjected quickly. "I'm alright. I know about the crash."

"You know?" Lincoln echoed, confused. Michael had probably seen it broadcasted somewhere, but that would mean that he was near civilisation. Why had he not called earlier? "Where are you?"

"I don't know. Listen, is Veronica there?"

Veronica stepped closer to the phone. "Mike?"

"I'm with Samantha Brinker and Jack Davies. They claim to be from the Company."

Lincoln inhaled with a loud hiss. "What's going on, Mike?" Why was he asking for Veronica?

"They got me when I was running, and now they're offering a deal," Michael explained.

"Is that why LJ's free?" Sara asked cautiously.

"Yes. And the car crash was staged as well. They told me that the guy in there was already dead and they had modified my dental records to suit his," Michael explained quickly.

"So what do they want?" Lincoln asked suspiciously. It was too good to be true. Why would they help a bunch of convicts? Why would they set LJ free?

Michael replied quietly, "In exchange for your freedom, your name being cleared, they want Veronica and the surveillance tape. And our silence."

"No!" Lincoln objected vehemently. How could Michael even think of agreeing to that deal? "That's crazy, Mike. You can't believe them. Tell them to…"

"Wait!" Veronica interrupted urgently, pushing Lincoln aside. "Did they say why they need it?"

"They want Steadman."

Lincoln shook his head disbelievingly. "This is getting crazier by the second," he exclaimed. "Why? And how do they know he's alive?"

"It's a long story, Linc," Michael said wearily. "No time to go into it now."

"I'll do it," Veronica declared resolutely.

Lincoln gave her an incredulous look. "No. You can't," he objected harshly. He was not going to let her risk her life for his. If he had to be on the run for the rest of his life, so be it. He could not let her endanger herself.

Veronica laid a hand on his shoulders. "Linc, these guys set LJ free. If they can do that, they can clear your name as well."

"Not by putting you in danger!" he snapped. "No. You're not going, Veronica."

Her chin jutted out stubbornly. "It's my decision to make. Not yours." She looked away from him. "Mike?"

Michael's voice came over the speakers. "Don't feel like you need to do this, Veronica. We can find some other way."

"No. Are they there?"

A short pause followed. "Yeah," Michael affirmed.

"Good. I want to speak to them."

An unfamiliar voice came over the line. "Ms Donovan. Pleased to make your acquaintance," a male voice said silkily.

"I'll give you the surveillance tape in exchange for Michael," she stipulated coldly.

"I'm afraid we'll need more than that, Ms Donovan. We need you. We need to know everything you know about Steadman and what he had said to you."

"You'll have it. I will tell you everything you want to know. But I'm not going with you."

Silence ensued. Out of corner of her eyes, Veronica saw Lincoln exhale in relief.

Then the man said, "Then how will we know that you're telling us the truth? How would we know that you won't just run off after giving us a fake tape?"

"I want Steadman exposed as much as you do. And I want Lincoln's freedom. I owe nothing to Steadman. Why would I lie?"

Another pause followed. Then the man said levelly, "It's good to know that we're on the same side."

Veronica rolled her eyes. "Do we have a deal then?"

A moment passed before the man said, "I believe we do. We'll contact you to agree a time and place."

Then he hung up.

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Michael blinked rapidly at the bright glare which greeted him as he stepped out of the warehouse. It was the first direct contact he had with sunlight in days. A black car with tinted windows was parked right outside the warehouse, surrounded by nothing by empty landscape all around. Brinker was already seated in front with her hands on the steering wheel.

At Davies's directions, he stepped in and shifted stiffly into place at the back seat of the car, his movement awkward because of his cuffed wrists.

Michael caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window as the car began to move.

His facial hair had grown out in the last four days, giving him an unkempt appearance which helped hide his features. Thankfully, they had allowed him the courtesy of washing himself in the small washroom in the warehouse before they left.

They sat in silence for a long while. Michael glanced at the landscape outside, trying to gauge their location, but nothing seemed familiar. He knew that they were heading to Ohio to meet Veronica.

He turned to Davies. "Where are we?"

"Near enough to our destination," came the cryptic reply.

Michael turned to look back out of the window. "Is my death confirmed yet?"

"Yes. It was all over the news yesterday. The manhunt will continue without you, you'll be glad to hear. But you will have to leave the country before you're spotted."

"That's my intention."

"We want nothing more than for you to disappear, Mr Scofield. It would make us…less worried."

"That's easy. Give Lincoln his freedom and you will never hear from us again," Michael said calmly. Then looking at Davies out of the corner of his eyes, he said, "Who is it you're trying to get at through Steadman?"

A cold smile passed Davies's lips. "If I tell you, I'm afraid I'd have to kill you."

Michael raised an eyebrow. He could not tell if the man was joking or being serious, but his gut feeling told him that it was the latter.

Davies took an envelope out of his briefcase. Leaning over, he slid the envelop into Michael's breast pocket.

"Your new identity. You're now a Canadian citizen. Your name's Michael Coffer. There's also a one way ticket to Mexico in there for you."

Michael nodded briefly. At least the name was similar enough to his own for him to remember. But he had no intention of leaving until he was sure of Lincoln's freedom.

They pulled up at the side of the road. Their designated meeting place was a small café in the middle of the busy town. A neutral ground which was agreed on by both parties.

Davies unlocked his cuffs. The second his hands were freed, Michael felt something cold and solid pressed against his back, under his jacket. He tossed a questioning look over his shoulders.

"As a security measure. I'm sure you'd understand," Davies explained with a cold smile. He handed a pair of sunglasses to Michael. "Put this on."

Michael did not say anything as he put the sunglasses on. The cold barrel of the gun continued to press against him, hidden under his jacket, as he stepped out of the car with Davies close behind. Brinker remained in the car.

Michael scanned their surroundings. As they crossed the busy road, he spotted Veronica sitting at a table outside a café. To his surprise, she was by herself.

Davies had obviously seen them too, and was now nudging him forward.

A niggling doubt assailed Michael. Was he doing the right thing? Was he putting all of them in danger? Was it too late to make a run for it? He shook his head inwardly. This was no time to have second thoughts. They had come too far to turn back now. If they did, none of them would live to see another day.

As they approached the table, Veronica remained seated. Despite the casualness of her facial expression, the stiff manner she was holding herself betrayed her anxiety.

"Veronica," Michael greeted.

"You okay, Mike?"

Michael nodded and sat down.

"Ms Donovan. I'm glad you turned up," Davies said with a pleasant smile, taking a seat opposite Veronica.

"I had every intention to, Mr?"

"Davies. Jack Davies. Now, shall we begin?"

"Not until you remove the gun from Michael's back."

Davies arched his brow. "In which case, I would suggest that you refrain from pointing your gun at me as well."

Michael snapped his head towards Veronica. The look on her face told him that Davies had hit the nail on the head. She must be using Nick's gun.

"Fine," Veronica said, shifting under the tablecloth.

Michael felt the gun ease off his back.

"So, shall we commence?" Davies asked, arching a questioning brow.

Veronica nodded curtly.

As they began their discussions, Michael let his eyes wander surreptitiously to their surroundings. He wanted to know if Lincoln and Sara were about. It was hard to believe that Lincoln would have allowed Veronica to turn up by herself. His guess was that Lincoln and Sara must be hiding somewhere inconspicuous.

Not finding any success with his search, he turned his attention back to the table.

Veronica was outlining the conversation she had with Steadman. From the expression on Davies's face, Michael guessed that none of the information was new to him. It made him wonder if Davies had really intended to ask for more information, or was just merely checking to see what Veronica knew of Steadman's situation.

Michael guessed it was the latter. There must be something that Davies did not want them to know; something to do with the conspiracy and the Company. At this point, Michael was not sure that he cared what it was. His priority was to ensure that Lincoln and the rest of them remained safe.

At the end of the questioning session, Davies leaned back and gave Veronica a thoughtful look. Michael exchanged a glance with her, noting that her expression gave nothing away. It must be all the training she had as a lawyer.

"Do you have the tape?" Davies finally asked.

Veronica slid a padded envelope across the table. "This is all we have."

Davies stared at the envelope. Picking it up, he opened the flap and peered inside.

"It's the real thing," Veronica assured him. "I'm not about to risk Lincoln's chance at freedom."

"Good." Holding the envelope up, Davies said, "We'll see just how useful this is. I take it you made a copy?"

Veronica hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. "As insurance," she admitted, tilting her chin up defiantly.

Davies narrowed his eyes. "Very well." He stood up to leave. After two steps, he turned to look back over his shoulders. "Don't go anywhere. We might need you as a witness if there's a trial."

Michael knew that it was a demand, not a request. "She will remain unharmed. That's part of our agreement," he emphasized.

With a brief nod, Davies spun around and headed away from them.

Michael exhaled slowly in relief, closing his eyes.

"That didn't go too bad," Veronica remarked softly.

He opened his eyes. "We'll still have to see if he manages to do what he promised." Glancing around, he pushed his chair back and stood up. "Where are Sara and Linc?"

Veronica nudged in the direction of a shop. "Back there."

"Let's go."

He had barely taken two steps before a slender body ran right smack into him.

"Michael!" Sara exclaimed, her face buried in his chest. She looked up, her eyes running over him as if to reassure herself that it was really him. "Are you okay?"

Michael nodded, wrapping his arms tight around her as he pressed his cheek against her head. Liquid warmth spread all over him as he nuzzled against her. He was glad to see her. Then he pulled back to look at her.

His lips twitching, he teased, "If I'd known that all it takes for you to throw yourself at me is for me to get kidnapped, I would have done it sooner."

Her eyes flashed for a second before she retorted haughtily, "Well, don't get used to it."

Michael laughed.

Lincoln approached them at a more sedate pace, his expression mixed. To Michael's surprise, LJ was walking right beside his father.

"Uncle Mike," LJ greeted.

Michael gave him a brief, but heartfelt hug and then released him. Holding on to his shoulders, he asked, "You okay?"

LJ nodded.

Lincoln glanced worriedly at the direction Davies had left in. "I hope we did the right thing," he said apprehensively.

"Faith, remember? We've got to have some faith," Michael reminded him softly.

"Well, we'd better leave before we attract more attention."

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It had been three weeks since they handed over the tape to the Company. Three weeks of hiding, running from one obscure town to another in the hope that no one would recognise Lincoln or Michael.

Within those three weeks, Michael had received a call from Sucre, letting them know that he had managed to stop Maricruz from getting married to Hector. They were now living in an undisclosed location.

Within those three weeks, Bellick's face had appeared more than once on the news as he gloated over his success in the capture of two of the escapees. Michael and the rest had caught sight of Haywire and Tweener on the screen as before they were hauled off back to prison.

With all these news arriving, Michael had wondered about the fate of the other three, namely Abruzzi, C-Note and T-Bag. But he had heard nothing so far.

Three weeks of waiting before they had an answer to those questions in their minds.

They were all gathered around the television in the two-bedroomed suite Sara had rented in one of the mountain resorts teeming with tourists. With the crowd coming in and out, no one had paid any attention to them. LJ and Veronica was about to leave the suite to get them some food when the news came on in the living room.

Getting from the couch, Michael walked over to turn the volume up. He kept his eyes fixed to the television as he returned to sit beside Sara.

The flickering images on the television screen displayed a furious looking President Reynolds stalking out of her home, flanked by bodyguards, as reporters thrust their microphones into her face. Her anger was palpable even through the television screen. The reporters fired question after question at her, but her response remained the same.

"_No comment."_

"_Did you know that Terrence Steadman was alive all this time?"_

"_No comment."_

"_Did the staged death of your brother play a part in your rise to vice-presidency before you became the president?"_

"_No comment."_

"_Agent Kellerman is your right-hand man. How do you feel now that the evidence is pointing towards you as the main instigator of this plan?"_

"_No comment."_

"_Do you think you're being framed for this?"_

"_No comment."_

"_How do you feel about the fact that this might cost you the presidency?"_

"_No comment!"_

Assisted by her bodyguards, President Reynolds disappeared into her limousine. The reporters rushed forward, tapping insistently on the windows, obviously not ready to let her leave, but the limousine continued to inch forward.

The camera swung around to focus on a reporter.

"The White House is in chaos following the controversial revelation of Terrence Steadman's status last night and the subsequent investigation which implicates the President's involvement. The President's brother, who had been previously verified as deceased, was recently found to be very much alive and is now in custody of the state."

An inset picture of Lincoln came on the screen. Michael leaned closer to the television, his breath suspended in his chest. Was this it? Would Lincoln finally be exonerated from the crime he did not commit?

"Months ago, the body of a man shot dead in Terrence Steadman's car had been identified as Terrence Steadman. The case had sparked a murder investigation which resulted in Lincoln Burrows being convicted of murder and sentenced to the electric chair. Lincoln Burrows was one of the recently escaped convicts from Fox Rivers. Now, however, all charges against him had been dropped."

All of them released a collective breath. Michael leaned back against the headboard as the load finally lifted off him. His brother was finally free.

"The investigation now is being focussed instead on Paul Kellerman, also known to go by the name Owen Kravecki. At present, Mr Kellerman is wanted for questioning on the incident and several other related cases. Anyone who has information on his whereabouts is urged to contact the authorities at this number."

A number flashed across the screen before it was replaced by a shot of Vice-President Tancredi in front of the White House surrounded by reporters.

Beside Michael, Sara gasped as her fingers tightened around his hand. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "It's okay, Sara," he soothed.

"_Vice-President Tancredi, what are your thoughts on this? Especially considering the mess it is now causing in the White House?"_

_Vice President Tancredi shook his head grimly. "It is an unfortunate incident. We try our best to maintain justice, but sometime, very unfortunately, things slip through. It is worse when it happens at high level."_

"I can't believe I'm hearing this," Sara muttered. "The two faced snake…"

Michael slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "Well, we got what we want, so I'm not going to complain."

"Wait! Look behind him, to the right!" Lincoln exclaimed in a disbelieving tone.

Michael turned his attention back to the television screen. His eyes widened when he saw the man and the woman standing to one side of Sara's father.

They were his captors, Samantha Brinker and Jack Davies.

"What the…" Veronica muttered in bewilderment.

"Looks like the Company is behind your father now, Sara," Michael observed quietly.

The Company's agenda suddenly became clear to him.

Michael guessed that for some reason or other, they wanted President Reynolds out of the picture. What better way to do it than to dig up all the dirt they could find? And the biggest, dirtiest secret was Terrence Steadman's so-called murder and Lincoln's very public death-sentence and his subsequent escape. The Company needed it to be very loud to make an impact, considering the power President Reynolds had.

No wonder they had no problem in securing LJ's release and providing him a new identity. Those guys were not short of power themselves, but they had a bigger problem, namely President Reynolds. To the Company, Lincoln, LJ and him were not important compared to taking the president down.

President Reynolds was the bigger fish they had wanted to fry.

And now it looked like they might have succeeded. And in the process, Lincoln, LJ and him got another chance to live freely.

As the news broadcast broke for a commercial, Michael turned to Lincoln, his face alight with satisfaction.

"You're a free man, Linc," he said with a growing grin.

Lincoln laughed as he pulled Veronica close. "Thanks to you and Veronica." Turning to Sara, he said, "And we wouldn't even make it out without you, Sara."

Then, sobering up, Lincoln added, "I'm sorry you lost your name, Mike."

Michael shrugged carelessly. "A small price to pay for your life, don't you think?"

"I feel a little left out," LJ grumbled.

Michael reached out a hand to ruffle LJ's hair just to have it brushed away indignantly. "Hey!"

"You kept me sane when I was in there," Lincoln said, placing a hand on LJ's shoulders.

LJ grinned and then his eyes lighted up. "Hey, we can go out for pizza now without being worried that you'd be arrested!"

Michael exchanged a meaningful glance with Sara. "I think I'll pass. The disguise is getting old."

Veronica laughed. "Okay, we'll bring something back for you. What about you, Sara?"

She shook her head. "I'm okay here."

Michael watched them leave. Now that Lincoln was free, Michael knew that it was time for him to focus on what he wanted.

When the door clicked shut behind them, he turned to face Sara, studying her features. He remembered the first time they had met, and how he had felt the first twinge of feelings towards her. It had been difficult then, knowing what he had to do to her. Knowing that it was inevitable that he would end up hurting her.

His eyes softened when he remembered their first kiss. It had been tentative to begin with, but after that, he could not stop himself from wanting more. It had been hard to pull away, but he had known that he had to.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked curiously, raising a hand to caress his cheeks.

He grabbed her hand and held it. "Our first kiss," he said softly as he leaned down to brush his lips against her ears.

She shivered slightly at his touch. "Hmmm? What about it?"

"Remember what I said after that?" he mumbled as his lips trailed down her jaw line.

A moment passed before she replied softly, "To wait for you and that it's not always going to be like that?"

His response to her answer was to capture her lips in a kiss. Her arms went around him, holding him close as she responded passionately, inciting a groan from him.

When they finally broke apart, he whispered, "Yeah." Then, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, he said, "I was getting a little sick of those insulin shots anyway."

Sara rolled her eyes. "Well, you could have come clean."

Michael arched an eyebrow. "Right."

Sara grinned.

Holding her close, he settled back onto the couch. He had wanted to broach a certain subject for the last three weeks, but the uncertainty of Lincoln's fate had held him back. Now that he knew that Lincoln was alright, it was time.

"So, how about a very long trip to Mexico, huh?" he ventured casually.

She raised her eyebrows. "Yeah? How long?" she asked, a small smile flitting across her lips.

She did not seem too surprised by the question. It was encouraging, Michael thought.

Feeling a little more confident now that he knew that she was not averse to the idea, he pretended to think. "Long enough for us to buy a house and grow a vegetable patch." He paused, and then continued with a straight face, "Maybe raise some children."

She punched him playfully. "I can't believe you've just said that."

"So, what do you think? Want to go on the run with me?" he asked, keeping his voice light.

The smile on her lips grew. "How could I say no to someone who gave me flowers that last forever?" The tender expression in her eyes told him what he wanted to know. The sincerity in her voice reinforced it.

His heart lifted. "I'll take that as a yes."

"Michael?"

"Hmm?"

"Don't make me wait anymore, okay?"

He cupped her face in his hands as their eyes locked in an intense moment. Leaning close to her, his voice came out as a breathy whisper against her lips.

"No more waiting. We're together now."

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**THE END**

A/N: And that's it. The end. Thank you for reading and for all your wonderful reviews. I hope that you've enjoyed it as much as I have enjoyed writing it. This story is my first attempt at PB and is one that's very close to my heart for some reason! So, I'm a little sad that it has ended. But hey, now we've got the REAL Prison Break Season 2 to look forward to! Before you rush off to your tv, I'd love it if you could review one last time and tell me what you think of the story.


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